


Come Rain or Come Shine (I'm With You Always)

by phdmama



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Comfort, Coming Out, Feelings Arise, First Kiss, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hooking up, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Panic Attack, San Francisco, some light PTSD discussion, study abroad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: 1: After the war, Draco doesn't know where to go, he just knows that he can't stay in England. When he is given an unexpected chance to take a year as a student at the Western Wizarding University in San Francisco, he leaps at the opportunity. This will be his chance to break away from his family and his past to find out who he is. His first term does bring surprises, not the least of which comes in the form of his new suitemates. He never expected to study biology, or cut his hair, or watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. And he never expected Potter.2: After the war, Harry doesn't know where to go, he just knows that he can't stay in England. When he's given an unexpected chance to take a year as a student at the Western Wizarding University in San Francisco, he leaps at the opportunity. This will be his chance to escape the mobs, his future as an auror, and the expectations of the wizarding world to find out who he is, even if it's only for a year. His first term does bring surprises, not the least of which comes in the form of his new suitemates. He never expected to find his courage again, to figure out what he wants, or to watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. And he never expected Malfoy.





	1. Come Rain or Come Shine

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to the wonderful [helloamhere](https://helloamhere.tumblr.com/) for the alpha read. 
> 
> I own none of these characters and am just playing in the world. This is a work of fiction, meant only to entertain. 
> 
> As always, the words, as well as the errors, are mine. 
> 
> This fic has two parts: it is the same story told from two different points of view. I had a wonderful time writing this. The original chapter (Draco's POV) just poured out of me, but I realized that I wanted to know Harry's side of the story, which . meant I had to write it. And it turns out, it was not exactly the same story. Technically, it was a fun and interesting challenge, and I really hope that you enjoy it as well!
> 
> Please note: there is a description of a panic attack in this, so if that will be upsetting for you, please take care of yourself!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's Point of View

**JULY**

“There.”

Draco jabs at the paper sitting on the table in front of him so hard that the tip of the quill he is holding splinters, splattering ink over the list of names.

“That’s the one.”

He looks up at Blaise and Pansy who are sitting across from him. They’re at some small tea shop in muggle London. The war has been over for two months, three weeks, and 5 days, and Draco hasn’t slept through the night once since Voldemort had been defeated.

Pansy leans over, reading upside down. “Western Wizarding University in…” She looks quickly up at him. “San Francisco? You want us to go to America? It’s so far.”

Draco nods, looking at her pleadingly. He’s not too proud to beg for this, but he sees a glimmer of understanding in Pansy’s eyes that makes him think he may not have to.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I want to get as far away from here as possible. They’ve got six spots they’re offering. It’s first come, first serve and the list isn’t being published until tomorrow. If we go today, _now,_ right now, we can all be together.”

Blaise looks at him quietly, his dark eyes sober in the low light of the tea room. “Is this really what you want, Draco?”

Draco takes a deep breath. “I’m going,” he says. “I can’t stay here, you know I can’t. I can do this by myself if I have, but I don’t want to. Will you come with me? Both of you?”

Blaise and Pansy exchange one of those searching and wordless glances that never fails to leave Draco feeling just a little bit on the outside of their friendship (and makes him wonder if there’s something more between them). As he waits for them to decide, he swallows nervously, but then they nod, and a smile breaks out over Pansy’s face.

“Of course, Draco. Of course, we’ll go with you.” She and Blaise exchange another one of those looks and then she adds softly, “You’re not the only who has to leave.”

Draco lets his eyes close in relief for a moment and then opens them and stands. “Come on, let’s go. I know a back way to Penrose’s office at the Ministry. We’ll go tell her now.”

As they make their way out the door and down the street to the apparition point, Blaise says curiously, “How’d you get the list, anyway?”

Draco shrugs. “My mother. Someone sent it to her with a note that said, “show this to Draco immediately. Tell him it gets released on the 29th. If he sees Madame Penrose the day before, he’ll get his pick of spots.”

He doesn’t add that the note is written in a messy chicken scratch that Draco would recognize anywhere. He has no idea why Potter is being kind to him, but he’s learned enough in the days since Voldemort fell to know he can’t afford pride any longer. Not if he wants to survive. So he’s leaving. He’ll go to America, to San Francisco, and maybe there he’ll learn who he is without the weight of the Malfoy name crushing him. Without a madman living in his home. Without his mother and father, who Draco loves, but no longer respects or trusts. And without the shadow of Potter and his untouchable friends hanging over him, maybe he’ll finally be able to breathe. He’s hated Potter for seven years. He doesn’t hate him any more, but he’s not sure the kindness is any improvement, and clearly Potter wants him gone too.

**SEPTEMBER**

Draco is feeling a little worse the wear. They’ve been traveling for, he doesn’t even know at this point, a lot of hours. They’d taken the international portkey from Heathrow that had deposited them in New York. From there, it was a double jump, first to Chicago and now to San Francisco. He’s bleary and hungry, but also vaguely nauseous from the jumps, and he has no idea what the local time is. They collect their trunks from the baggage claim area and make their way out into the heat of the midday, their trunks bobbing along after them. The sky is a brilliant blue and Draco takes what feels like his first full breath in months. They’re here. They’re really here.

Pansy says, “The letter said there’d be a… trolley? I don’t know what that is?”

Blaise points, “There’s a sign.”

They follow the arrow out to a queue filled with people about their age. Draco notices that not one of them is wearing robes; they’re all dressed in muggle clothes. Many have large backpacks, and he doesn’t see a trunk amongst them, not like the three of them have. He stops, and immediately strips off his robes and jams them into his trunk; Blaise and Pansy mimic him quickly.

They’re all wearing standard formal wear underneath, and Draco can feel the sweat trickling down his back.

He looks at the other two and says, “First thing we need to do after we get settled? Shopping.”

They queue up, and Draco tries to ignore the stares and whispers, and then a girl smiles at them and says, “I’m guessing you’re the exchange students?” and he is almost dizzy with relief as he thinks, _It’s going to be okay._

The trolley car is quaint, and he, Blaise and Pansy find seats together towards the back, looking out the open windows as they trundle along. They’ve left their luggage in a pile with everyone else’s; the friendly girl had assured him that it all would be delivered to their rooms, _no problem,_ she’d said.

 _No problem,_ Draco thinks. _Is that what life is like here?_

The trolley route mirrors the highway until they get into San Francisco and then turns onto city streets, and it occurs to Draco that he’s not entirely sure where the University actually is. He leans over to the girl who’d been so welcoming and forces himself to smile.

“Hullo,” he says, “I was wondering…” and she turns with a warm grin. “Could you tell me about where we’re going?”

“Oh sure,” she says. “I’m Mandy, I’m from Chicago.” She has a flat, almost nasal quality to her voice and it’s like music to Draco’s ears.

“I’m Draco,” he says after a moment, “ And this is Blaise and Pansy.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, but Mandy immediately begins speaking, and with relief, Draco realizes that she has no idea who they are, other than that they are exchange students from London.

“So, the University is down at the end of Golden Gate park.” Mandy says happily. “S’one of the reasons people love it, we’re right on the beach. Have you ever been to San Francisco before?”

Draco shakes his head. “I’ve been to New York a couple of times with my family,” he says, “But that was years ago. Things have been.” He stops, not sure how to continue, but Mandy just nods.

“Yeah, my mom’s sister married an English guy, she’s been so worried with all The Difficulties you’ve been having,” and Draco frowns a bit at the characterization of the war as “The Difficulties” but just nods. “I can’t even imagine, like, having a war at your school? That _sucks.”_

Draco wonders for a moment if the divide between them and the American students is so wide that there will be no crossing, but then recalls the lack of reaction to their names and thinks, _it’s worth it._

Mandy chatters away as the trolley car makes its way through the city, each neighborhood seeming to have its own distinct look. Then they turn off the road and into what seems to be a forest walled off in the middle of the city.

Mandy is explaining how there’s less of a fuss about secrecy in San Francisco, and how the Wizarding area is “just over there, in the Haight.” Apparently San Francisco has been a thriving wizarding community for a very long time, and as the muggles had built up around them, they’d just sort of blended in. Which, Draco thinks, might explain a lot.

He watches as the landscape around them changes from woods to open parkland and then, as they rise up over a ridge, he gasps at the sight of the ocean spread out below them, and tucked into the hillside, what is clearly a thriving campus community. He turns to Blaise and can’t help the smile that crosses his face, and Blaise mirrors it back to him.

Mandy grins too and says “Welcome to Dub-Dub. You’re gonna love it here, I know it.”

Pansy frowns and asks, “Dub-Dub?” and Draco isn’t sure he’s ever heard her so hesitant before, but they all feel it, he knows, how different things are here.

“Oh, that’s what everyone calls it. Western Wizarding University, that’s just a mouthful. Anyway,” the trolley has pulled into a circle in front of a large, fairly industrial looking building. “We’re here. C’mon, I’ll show you where to go to get your dorm assignments.”

She hops up and leads the way into the building.

Mandy is, Draco thinks, an hour and a half later, an absolute godsend. Not only does she show them where new students check in, she walks them over to their dorm, pointing out the important things they need to know, like where the ice cream truck parks on Saturdays, where the morbiardere field is. This is the sport they play here; apparently it’s a lot like British football, except there are three teams, five goals, and the balls occasionally explode. After showing them where to catch the trolley into the city, Mandy peels off to head to her own dorm, pointing them to theirs, which is apparently the next building over, and with a promise to stop by later, they wave goodbye.

Draco looks at the unfamiliar keycard in his hand. They’ll need it to get into the room for the first time, apparently, and then when their roommates have arrived, they’ll key the lock to their own magical signatures, so they don’t have to worry about it after that. The woman in registration, Peg something or other, had casually mentioned that there were three other exchange students, so they were all being housed together in a suite in the upper class dorm, even though they’re technically something called frosh. Draco’s head is spinning, he doesn’t understand the American educational system. They’ll be meeting with their advisors on Thursday, and classes start the following Tuesday, so they’ve got a bit of time to settle in. Peg has given them all folders stuffed with information for orientation week, but right now, all Draco wants to do is figure out where he can lie down for a bit.

Mandy had said something about the dorms looking like “cheesy 70s motels” and Draco has no idea what that means. Apparently, what it means is that the dorm, a long, three-story building on the edge of campus, appears to be made out of cement blocks. They approach from the back, apparently at the 2nd level is the ground level on this side, as the ground drops down to the water around front. It’s all windows across the back, some of which are open, and Draco can hear music blasting from a few rooms. They make their way up a low set of stairs and follow the walkway around to the front of the building, where they stop and stare for a moment.

They’re on a long, wide porch that extends down the length of the building, and each room seems to have its own, separate entrance. They’re looking out to the west, where there’s an impossibly green lawn that slopes down to a sandy beach and there’s the ocean. The air smells of salt and water and a little bit like fish and Draco can’t get enough. They’re in 268, which seems to be about halfway down the building, and he can see their trunks piled outside the door. Each suite has a large, picture window that faces the beach, and Draco thinks the sunsets will be fantastic.

They reach their door, and Draco takes a deep breath, and then shoves the card into the lock, and the door clicks open to their new home, and they step inside to look around, leaving their luggage outside the door for the moment..

It’s, well. It’s definitely not Hogwarts. No four poster beds, no cozy curtains. They enter directly into an open living space. There’s a small kitchenette off to the left, and a hallway to the right leading down to the bedrooms. The room is sparsely furnished. There's a large, fairly disreputable-looking couch, with a battered coffee table in front of it. Behind the couch is a table with four chairs, and a bookshelf., and Draco curiously opens the door behind the entrance to find a coat closet.

They wander around and then Blaise says, “Uh, so about rooms.”

Draco pauses. There are three bedrooms that appear to be identical. Each one has two twin beds, two desks, one nightstand between the beds with a lamp on it, a closet, and, thank Merlin for small mercies, each has its own tiny ensuite bathroom. There is one window per bedroom that looks back up the hill to campus. It’s small, grubby, and smells like pine disinfectant, and Draco couldn’t be happier.

“We’re here first,” Draco points out. He pulls out his room information. “It doesn’t look like we’re assigned specific bedrooms.”

“It’s just.” Blaise coughs. “Pans and I were thinking that we’d… share.”

Draco stares at him and then whips his head around to look at Pansy, who is turning an interesting shade of red. “I mean, okay?”

“It’s just, there are three of us, and only two to a room,” Blaise shrugs.

“Are you lot shagging?” Draco asks before he can stop himself and Pansy goes an even-more alarming shade of purple.

“Um,” Blaise says eloquently and Draco gives a crow of delight.

“You are! I knew it. When did this start then?”

Pansy covers her face and gives a helpless laugh and Blaise just looks relieved and says, “Not that long, but. Long enough to know.”

They exchange a look that could rot your teeth with how sweet it is and Draco rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. But I’m not sleeping in the room next to you.”

He heads back outside and quickly levitates it, sending it back into the suite. He thinks for a moment and then moves across the space to open the door to the bedroom closest to the living room. “Let’s put you lot down at the end of the hall, I’ll take this one.”

He can’t help but feel a bit nervous, wondering who the other three students will be. Apparently some of the other wizarding schools have been sending exchange students for years, so it’s not an absolute that it will be other displaced Hogwarts students, thought that is the most likely scenario. Hopefully, whoever he’s rooming with will be at least open-minded enough not to hex him on sight. Peg had made reference to The Difficulties and said firmly that they expected all the exchange students to behave appropriately, and Draco had just nodded. He has no plans to start any trouble, thank you very much. He’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Blaise and Pansy disappear into their room, and Draco, thankfully, can’t hear anything as they shut the door behind them. He leaves his door open. He’d heard someone on the trolley comment that there was a second round of students arriving tomorrow, so he’s got some time to stake his claim. He grabs the bed farthest from the bathroom, and looks at his space for the rest of the year. The bed is made up with institutional linens, which he rectifies immediately.

When they’d asked about cleaning and laundry services, Peg had stared at them and then snickered a bit. Apparently, that doesn’t exist here amongst the heathens, so they’ll be doing their own cleaning and laundry. There are “machines” in the “basement” and Draco can’t help but feel almost excited. He knows a fair number of household cleaning charms, and the idea of actually being responsible for himself is almost appealing. He wrestles his sheets onto the bed. There’s a bit of adjusting needed, as the bed is longer than he’d realized, but soon it’s all made up, with his favorite linens in a soft grey, and black and white duvet cover with a stylized vine pattern running across it. There’s not even a hint of green in the room.

He hangs up his towels in the bathroom, sets out his toiletries on one side of the sink, and then heads back into the bedroom. He starts to pull out his robes to hang up and then stops, sinking onto the bed for a moment to think. No one here is wearing robes. Or ties. Or, he looks down at himself, consideringly, and then starts to undress. No waistcoats, no sharply-pressed trousers. He rummages in his trunk and unearths the one pair of denims he owns, as well as a white undershirt. He pulls these on and then looks in the mirror on the back of the door. There’s nothing to be done about his shoes, yet, but he looks… He frowns. Still too buttoned up and uptight, he thinks, and then takes a deep breath. Grabbing his wand, he carefully strips his hair of all the styling charms he’s been using for years, until it flops into his face. He blows it out of his eyes and considers, and then, shoving his feet back into his chelsea boots, he walks out of the room.

They’ve got to go into Wizarding San Francisco anyway, to get their money accounts set up, and, he thinks, feeling overwhelmed but also weirdly excited, he’s got shopping to do and a haircut to get.

He bangs on Blaise and Pansy’s door. “I’m going out,” he calls, “Are you coming with?”

There’s a long pause, a muffled squeak and then Blaise calls out, a bit breathless, “Err, no, we’re just. Getting settled.” There’s another squeal and Draco hastily backs away from the door. “Just, err. Go check things out, we’re gonna…” His words trail off into a moan and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Fine.”

And grabbing the keycard and the things he needs for the bank, Draco walks out into the sunshine to start his new life.

By the following afternoon, Draco is confident that he’s made the right decision. He’s made his way around the Haight, found the entrance to the Wizarding area of San Francisco, and is amazed at how modern it all seems compared to Diagon Alley. He’s set up his bank account and gotten his money transferred, managed to acquire enough clothes for the time being, and he’s banished his robes and formalwear to the bottom of his trunk, which is shrunk down and in the back of the closet.

Best of all, he’s gone to something called a saloon? Salon? He can’t quite remember the word, but after they’d washed his hair, he’d said to the girl with the exuberant magenta curls, “I don’t care what you do, I just don’t want to look like this anymore,” and she’d actually shrieked with joy.

So here he is. He’s got a haircut that makes him look entirely unlike his father. It’s shaved on the sides, long and messy on top, and best of all, she’s put in some streaks of a deep blue-green that she insisted set off his eyes. When he’d gotten back to the flat, no, the _suite,_ Blaise and Pansy had just about fallen off the couch when he’d let himself in, but after a long moment, Pansy had said only, “It looks fabulous, darling,” and that had been that.

They’d met up with Mandy and gone to something called the caf for dinner. It hadn’t been great… well, it was terrible, Draco thought, but apparently complaining about the food is a time-honored tradition here at Dub-Dub, and Draco intends to embrace it all. The only thing standing between him and really relaxing into this new life is the fact that their new roommates haven’t arrived yet.

They’re sitting around their battered table the following afternoon, eating pizza from a box that had actually been delivered to their door (Mandy had walked them through calling for it), when Draco hears the sound of the card in the lock, and then the door opens.

Someone is coming in, talking over his shoulder to the people following him into the suite, and Draco hears him say, “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” and then the guy turns around and Draco can’t help himself as he leaps to his feet, because standing in front of him, staring at him as if he’s seen a ghost, is Harry Potter.

Potter’s wand clatters to the floor and there’s a moment of total silence and then Ron speaks, because of course, the Weasle and the Mu— Draco stops himself right there and takes a deep breath. _No,_ he reminds himself, he is _not_ that person anymore, and he’s not going to fucking _be_ that person anymore. He can’t even articulate who he wants to be, but he figures at this point, probably the best thing he can do is just the opposite of whatever his instincts are telling him to do. Since his instincts are telling him to hex Potter and run, he stands still and then steps carefully forward, holding out his hand.

“Potter. Welcome to Dub-Dub.” He shifts his gaze to include Weasley and Granger and there’s moment of breathless anticipation as they all wait to see what will happen.

Potter stares at him, his mouth gaping, and Draco suddenly can’t help but find the humor in the situation, and snorts. Potter looks around wildly as everyone else stands frozen and then Draco sees something cross his face, an expression he can’t interpret, and then Potter takes a visible breath, moves forward, and shakes his hand.

“Malfoy.”

With that, the silence is broken, but no less awkward, as the three newcomers bring their things into the room.

Draco hears Weasley say to Potter, “Did you know?” and Potter just presses his lips together and shakes his head.

“Well,” Blaise says brightly, “This is terribly awkward, isn’t it?”

Granger sighs. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m even surprised at this point.”

Pansy frowns. “It was this or Singapore and none of us speak Mandarin. We needed to get as far away as possible.”

Hermione fixes her with a steady stare and says only, “What makes you think we didn’t need the same thing?”

Pansy sits for a moment and then nods.

“So,” Weasley says, attempting to sound nonchalant, “What’s the rooming situation?”

Draco sits back down at the table and picks up his pizza. “There’s three doubles. Blaise and Pansy are down at the end. I’m right there.” He points at the door to his room, which is ajar.

There’s a long pause and Draco can see Weasley and Granger staring at each other and then turning as one to look at Potter.

“Harry,” Hermione says hesitantly and Potter slumps down onto the couch with a groan.

“Fine,” he says, his voice muffled from where his face is buried in his hands. “It’s fine, Hermione.”

“Are you sure, mate?” Weasley asks, also looking anxious and hesitant and Potter finally looks up to meet his eyes.

“It’s fine, Ron. Go on.”

Draco has no idea what’s happening here, he’s already resigned himself to sharing with Granger, at least she’s a serious student unlike the other two, when he sees Weasley and Granger moving down the hall to enter the empty middle room.

“Wait, what?” He gasps and turns to look frantically at Blaise and Pansy who are very carefully not making eye contact with him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Potter stands up and levitates his trunk with grim determination. “Nope. It’s you and me, Malfoy.”

“But,” Draco stands in protest. “Potter. Don’t you think this is… a not good idea? A very bad idea, in fact?”

He follows Potter into his, no, _their_ room and watches as he sets the trunk down carefully.

“Well,” Potter shrugs. “Blaise and Pansy are together, yeah? So are Ron and Hermione. That leaves… us. Honestly, Malfoy, I’m too knackered to do anything tonight. Can’t we just get some sleep and hex each other tomorrow?”

Draco watches as Potter flops over onto the bed and drapes his arm over his eyes. He feels bewildered, like he can’t quite figure out what exactly is happening here.

“I don’t want to hex you,” he finally says quietly.

Potter pulls his arm away long enough to blink sleepily at Draco. “What do you want? Nice hair, by the way.”

Draco runs a hand over the shaved back of his head. “I just want. To be left alone. To have some space.”

Potter rolls over and casts a half-hearted tooth cleaning charm at his mouth. “I can do that, Malfoy. But, like I said. I’m exhausted. All I want to do right now is to go to bed. We can work the rest out tomorrow, okay?”

And somehow, that’s it. That’s all it takes. Draco casts a quiet nox and says softly, “Sleep well, Potter,” and makes his way back out to the table to finish his pizza. If later, he lies awake in the dark listening to Potter breathe and a few tears slip down his cheeks at how much has changed, and how it still may not be enough, well, no one needs to know. He reminds himself, no one knows them here, and that includes Saint Potter. He doesn’t have to be in Potter’s shadow any more.

They settle into this new life surprisingly easily. Draco gets used to watching Blaise and Pansy cuddle on the couch. He gets used to making his way around a bleary-eyed Weasley in their little kitchen in the morning, and the first time he calls him Ron, three weeks into the term, Ron only looks at him and hands over the coffee pot without comment. He and Granger, _Hermione,_ share a couple of classes, and have started studying together on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, when they’re not in lecture.

That’s another thing that surprises Draco, how much he’s enjoying his coursework. When he’d met with his advisor, she’d asked him, “What do you want to study?” and he realizes, no one has ever asked this of him before. Never asked him what he wants to learn, where he wants to go in his life, and he realizes that here, for this year, he’s free to do exactly what he wants before he has to go back and pick up the Malfoy mantle, and so he does just that.

He ends up deciding to take a little bit of everything from psychology to art history, and he and Hermione are sharing Bio 101 and History of Social Justice in America. There’s no shortage of magical classes as well, but as seems to be the case everywhere here, muggle and wizardry are woven together in a seamless tapestry that both baffles and excites Draco. He had no idea this was being done. He had no idea this was possible.

He hears from his mother once a week like clockwork. His father had been sentenced just before he’d left, and he knows only what his mother shares. He does not read the Prophet that Hermione has somehow managed to have delivered, though they're usually a week behind. He’s chosen just to step away, and he can’t fathom how he’ll step back when the time comes.

What he hasn’t gotten used to is Potter. The first morning they’d woken up together had been weird, but Draco had finally cleared his throat and asked, “So, are you going to hex me, then?” and Potter had simply shaken his head and headed into the bathroom and that had been that.

He and Potter don’t talk a lot, but it’s okay. They’re oddly compatible as roommates. They both like to stay up and study, and then sleep in as late as they can get away with. Potter doesn’t snore, and takes regular showers, and it could, Draco thinks, be far worse.

Draco ends up spending a fair amount of his time with Hermione. They’d quickly realized that they work well together, and often have revising sessions, bouncing ideas and information off of each other. The’ve gotten into a routine of studying together when they don’t have lecture, and Draco realizes that not only does she have one of the quickest minds he’s ever encountered, she’s got a dry sense of a humor and a way of breaking down complex material to make it clear.

“You should be a professor,” Draco says.

It’s the very end of September and they’re sitting in the living room, revising for their first biology quiz, their notes and books strewn about them.

“Hmmm?” Hermione looks up from where she’s been muttering about cell membranes and structures.

“Just,” Draco shrugs. “You’d be really good.”

“Oh,” Hermione says a bit uncertainly.

Though they’ve developed a good working relationship in the last three weeks, they’ve yet to tackle any sort of personal material. Sitting unacknowledged between them is the letter Draco had written to her after being accepted to the San Francisco program, apologizing for, well, everything he could think of, and he has a feeling it’s the only reason Hermione has been willing to give him a chance at all.

“Thank you,” she says finally. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Draco asks before he can stop himself, “When you go back? Do you want to teach?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’m not thinking that far ahead,” and snickers when Draco raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Okay, fine, I’ve thought about it a bit. I want to do something that makes a difference, I guess. I’m just not sure how to do that.”

“I mean,” Draco swallows and looks away, “You’ve already done rather a lot, haven’t you. For the world?”

There’s a moment of silence that feels somehow understanding, maybe even sympathetic, and then Hermione says only, “It would be interesting to learn more here, about how they integrate muggle things into the curriculum? Take that back with me.”

Draco exhales a bit and forces a smile. “Can you imagine that at Hogwarts? Bringing in muggle psychology? Or this?”

He indicates their piles of notes. They’ve both had to do a fair amount of scrambling to catch up with their American peers, and Hermione has gone on more than one impressive rant about the holes in the Hogwarts curriculum.

“How about you?” Hermione asks curiously and Draco frowns in confusion at her.

“How about me what?”

“What do you think you want to do?”

Draco looks away and fiddles with his notecards on ribosomes. “I just want to get at least a 92 on this exam,” he says finally, “That’s the most I can worry about right now.”

Hermione gives him another of those far too insightful looks and then grins. “We’ve got this,” she says, and picks up her notecards. “Okay, tell me again what the Golgi apparatus does?”

**OCTOBER**

As they move into October, the air begins to cool off, and the sunsets are, as Draco had imagined, glorious. He’s sitting out on one of their cheap plastic chairs on the balcony, watching the sky as it turns every shade of pink and purple that he imagines might exist, when Potter comes around the corner and down the balcony to slump into the chair next to him with a groan.

Draco glances over at him, and without a word, reaches down and grabs a beer out of the six-pack at his feet and hands it to Potter. Mandy had taught him a nifty little charm that keeps the beer cold without turning the cardboard mushy, and Draco’s learning to enjoy his lager American-style, icy cold.

“Tough day?”

Potter twists off the cap on the bottle and takes a long drink. Draco realizes he’s staring at Potter’s throat as he swallows, and looks away quickly, taking a hasty sip of his own beer.

Potter rests the beer on his knee and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess. My Victimology class, this week we’re doing consequences of victimization and it’s just.” He sighs. “I feel so much older than so many of these people here.”

Draco nods. There’s a way in which the war feels so _removed_ from his daily existence, and he can’t believe it’s not even been five months since the final battle, but there are also ways in which he feels forever changed and scarred, and it’s difficult for someone like Mandy to understand, when the worst things that have ever happened to her are that she got a 63 on their bio quiz and her high school boyfriend dumped her before prom. Draco doesn’t even know what the fuck a prom is.

“And then,” Potter continues, “We’ve got an exam Monday in my intro to Criminal Justice and it’s just... not that interesting.”

Draco studies Potter for a moment, noting the line in his forehead and the shadows beneath his eyes. He’s gorgeous, of course, but that’s just incontrovertible fact for Draco, like gravity or that the sun sets in the west. That Potter looks tired, and has a spot brewing on his chin doesn't change his attractiveness at all. Unfortunately.

“Why are you studying those things?” Draco hears himself ask without realizing he was going to say anything.

Potter looks over in surprise.

“I beg your pardon?”

Draco waves at the books and binders stuffed into the heavy backpack at Potter’s feet.

“Why are you studying that stuff? I guess I’d have thought you’d maybe had enough of that. And, I don’t know. You don’t seem to be enjoying it all that much, honestly.”

Potter shrugs. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. And anyway, everyone expects me to be an auror when I get back. You won’t believe how hard I had to fight to get away for this year.”

“Fight? Fight who?” Draco asks, confused. “I mean, you’re a legal adult. Can’t you do what you want?” He’s quite sure that compared to him and the weight of expectations that he carries, Potter must be free as a bird.

Potter looks weary. Draco is pretty sure he isn’t sleeping well, and there’s been a couple of times lately where Potter’s woken him with whimpers, clearly in the grips of some nightmare. Draco's always just rolled over, pulled a pillow over his head, and has never mentioned it in the morning, but now he wonders if he’s been doing the right thing. Potter looks… rough.

“Just, you know. Kingsley wanted me to go right into training. Molly wanted me to stay. Not to mention Ron and Hermione, of course.” His face transforms as he says their names, softens and Draco catches his breath at the sight of him.

 _Oh no,_ he thinks frantically, _no. I don’t want this._

“Well,” Draco says, ignoring his treacherous heart and taking another sip of his beer. “What would you want to study? If you could pick anything?”

There’s silence as Potter seems to be actually thinking about Draco’s question.

Then Potter says, “I… Fuck, I don’t even know. What are you taking?”

“Doesn’t really matter.” He shrugs, watching the surf as the sun sinks slowly below the horizon. “I really just wanted to learn something new, you know? I don’t care what it is.”

Later when they’re getting ready for bed, Potter says suddenly, “Maybe, philosophy?”

“What?” Draco spits into the sink and pokes his head out into the bedroom to look at Potter. “What are you talking about?”

“Just,” Potter shoves his textbooks down to the foot of his bed and flops onto his back, “I think it’s interesting, you know? Thinking about that stuff.”

Draco dries his hands and flicks off the light as he exits the bathroom. “What, you think thinking about… thinking is… interesting?”

Potter snickers and then they’re both laughing, and Potter looks young and as radiant as the sunset they’d watched earlier, and Draco is breathless. And then, suddenly, Draco hears from the room next door, a soft moan and then the sound of a bed shuddering against the wall.

“For Merlin’s sake,” he mutters as Potter heads into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

He hears Potter snicker. “Seems like everyone here’s getting laid but us, huh, Malfoy?”

Draco rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. “Speak for yourself, Potter,” he snips.

It’s not true, of course. Draco knows that part of why he came here is to explore… well, explore a lot of things. He hasn’t quite found the courage yet to go out to one of the bars Mandy told him about. He’s working his way up to it, he thinks. He’s just started letting himself notice other boys on campus, and he’d spent a very pleasurable afternoon the other day “studying” by the morbiardere field, and watching the way the boys’ thighs had looked in the later afternoon sun. He’s working his way up to anything else.

There’s silence from the bathroom and then Potter comes out, casts a careless nox on the light and slides into bed.

“What?” Draco asks. The silence feels weird, like Potter is waiting for something.

“You’re seeing someone?”

Draco laughs. “No.”

“You’ve… pulled? Hooked up?”

Somehow in the dark, the words, the confessions come easier.

“No,” Draco specifically does not roll on his side to face Potter. “I haven’t. I’ve been thinking about it, I suppose.”

“Really?” Potter’s voice sounds interested and not sarcastic at all. “Who? Mandy?”

“What?” Draco laughs out loud. “Mandy? Of course not. Why would I be pulling Mandy?”

Draco hears the rustle of covers as Potter shifts. “I mean, you do spend a lot of time together.”

“She’s my friend, Potter.” Draco rolls his eyes in the dark and something in the silences tells him that Potter knows the expression he’s making. He takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears, and then says carefully, “She’s really not my type.”

Potter says back, equally careful, “You don’t like brunettes?”

Without thinking, Draco says, “I like brunettes just fine, Potter. I just don’t like girls.”

It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room and then Potter says in a strangled voice, “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Draco says. He waits a beat and then asks a bit coolly, “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Potter says faintly, from his side of the room, “No problem. I just. I didn’t know.”

“Well,” Draco finally rolls onto his side and adjusts his pillow. “Not many people do, actually. I’ve never really. You know. But I didn’t pick San Francisco for nothing,” and, he decides abruptly, this weekend, he’s going to go to that club Mandy told him about, and just… see. “Good night, Potter.”

As he drifts off, he hears Potter say quietly, “Sleep well, Malfoy,” and as sleep overtakes him, he wonders just why it might be that Potter chose San Francisco.

Saturday comes, and Draco talks Blaise and Pansy into going into the Castro with him to check out the club Mandy had mentioned. Ron is coming out of his room as they’re talking, and Draco has no idea how it happens, but all of a sudden, they’re all going out together.

“Weasley,” Draco says, narrowing his eyes at Ron, “It’s a gay bar.”

Ron shrugs. “I mean, it’s a club called Boystown in the Castro, mate. I’d sort of assumed that. Why, do you think it’s not okay if we go?”

Draco pauses. Never having gone to a gay establishment of any sort, he’s a bit unclear on the etiquette of it all. “I have no idea.”

“I mean,” Weasley persists, “We’re going with you, right? So it should be okay?”

Draco stares at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just,” Ron shrugs again and waves his hands around. “It’s a gay bar, you’re a gay guy, we’re friends, going out together.”

Draco coughs and then says, “Yeah, okay,” and just like that, he’s out.

“Anyway,” Ron says with a snicker, turning to Harry, “You’re the only one who’s single and straight, mate, you might want to be careful. Don’t look too pretty.”

Draco feels a flicker of… something as Harry snorts in return, “I’m not actually worried, Ron.”

“We’ll protect you, anyway,” Ron laughs, “We won’t let anyone compromise your virtue.”

“Ron,” Hermione chides and Draco rolls his eyes.

Honestly.

“Just don’t try to protect _my_ virtue, alright?” Draco makes his tone light and Ron turns that cheerful grin on to him.

“No worries mate, though don’t think we won’t be giving anyone you pull the once-over. Gotta look out for our friends, right?” and with that, he heads into his own room to get changed and Draco can’t tell if he’s more irritated or endeared by the man, but that’s not that unusual with Ron, and Draco heads into his room with Potter to get changed.

“What do you think Ron’s going to wear?” Draco asks him with a snicker.

Potter laughs. “Same thing he always wears. It’s ripped jeans and a t-shirt or robes, he’s got nothing else. How about you?”

Draco opens the bottom drawer of his dresser and smirks. Mandy had taken him shopping a couple of weeks ago for clubwear, and he’s decided he’s going all out tonight. Maybe he’ll end up with someone, maybe not, but he’s very willing to let the night take him where it may.

Potter heads into the bathroom and Draco strips down quickly. He wiggles into the tight black jeans, sans pants because there’s really no room, and takes a moment to adjust his dick. He pulls on the fitted, black, sleeveless shirt, and jams his feet into his converse high tops, which have become happily battered over the last couple of months. He pulls his supplies out of the top drawer of his dresser, and casting a glance at the closed bathroom door, carefully lines his eyes with the black kohl Mandy had suggested, that has silver flecks in it. He slicks on the cherry lipgloss she’d also suggested and ruffles his hair. He’s just had it cut again and the blue/teal streaks are vibrant in the low light of their room.

He’s opening the closet door to grab his jacket when he hears Potter come out of the bathroom and there’s something like a cough and something like a strangled moan and then silence as Draco turns to stare at him.

Potter is staring at him, eyes wide, and Draco pauses, suddenly unsure.

“What? Do I look like an idiot?”

Mandy had assured him that the jeans were perfect.

“No,” Potter squeaks out and quickly looks away. “No, you don’t.”

He’s looking pretty good himself, in skinny dark wash jeans and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up that fits him well. Draco also hastily averts his eyes because staring at your straight roommate after he’s found out that you’re gay is a one-way ticket to disaster, as Draco well knows.

He shrugs into his jacket. It’s a black leather motorcycle jacket, and Draco can’t help but love how he feels in it. He thinks he looks tough, and strong, and just a tiny bit dangerous and, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he heads out the door to meet up with the others, gay. Very, very gay.

Everyone is dressed up for the club. Even Ron has pulled on a tighter t-shirt, eschewing the baggy vintage muggle band shirts he’s been wearing all fall. They all take a shot of some terrible cheap muggle whiskey that Blaise has taken a liking too, and then head out the door, laughing in the cool air of the San Francisco evening, and Draco realizes that somehow, perhaps without any of them even noticing, they’ve all become more than just accidental roommates.

They've become friends.

As they pile onto the Castro-bound trolley, Draco catches Hermione’s eye and she grins at him as she stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Weasley’s cheek, and he thinks with a rueful shake of his head, Hermione had known. Of course she had. He watches the way her eyes move between his face and Potter’s, and wonders what else she’s noticed while he hasn’t been paying attention.

By the time they get to the club, Draco is so excited and anxious, he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. There’s not much of a line, it’s early yet, and soon they’re paying the cover and making their way into the lobby. They check their coats and then move into the hot, smoky interior of the club.

Draco feels like a child in a candy shop, his eyes wide as he looks around. The crowd is about 90% young men, and Draco catches his breath as he sees boys dancing together, boys grinding on each other, boys kissing, leaning into one another. He sees Ron grab Hermione’s hand as Blaise drapes an arm around Pany’s shoulder and leans in to their group.

“Shots,” Blaise shouts, jerking his head towards the bar at the back of the room, “then dancing!”

There is no reasonable counterargument to be found, so they push through the crowd to the bar, and soon Draco finds himself huddled in a circle with his roommates, pressed in next to Harry so close that he catches a whiff of Harry’s cologne. It’s nice, he thinks absently, as he takes first one, then another shot of something very blue and very vile. Harry smells of some sort of spice with a hint of pine or something.

They all look around at each other and then Draco laughs, throws his hands up into the air and shouts, “Let’s dance.”

Draco realizes, as he gets lost in the way the music vibrates through his very veins, that he feels young and carefree in a way that he hasn’t for a very long time, maybe ever. Even more, he feels like maybe for the first time in his life, he’s bringing his whole self out of the shadows, where he’s been hidden. He dances, he laughs, he lets a boy wrap his arms around him and press against him from behind and it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever felt.

He loses the others after a bit. He catches glimpses of them here and there. He sees Blaise being spun around by a very large, bearded man in a complicated leather harness while Pansy laughs in delight. He sees Ron wrapped around Hermione, kissing her with all he’s got, his hand wound into her dark curls, and something about the way they abandon themselves to the moment makes his heart fill and stretch, just a bit. He sees Harry pushing through the crowd to head back to the bar, and hopes he’s not uncomfortable.

Draco is making his way back from the bathroom when he sees it happen. The music changes, the lights drop and begin flashing different colors, first purple, then blue. He catches sight of Harry and starts to make his way over to him where he’s pressed up, back against the bar, and the lights change again, flashing red and then to green, and then, Potter panics. Draco sees it happen. Sees Harry drop the glass he’s holding as his hands fly up to cover his mouth, and even though Draco can’t hear a thing over the music, he knows deep inside of him that Potter is screaming.

Draco pushes his way through the crowd, none of whom seem to have noticed anything going wrong in their midst. Potter is backed up against the bar so hard that Draco thinks he’ll have bruises on his back in the morning. His eyes are closed, and there are tears on his cheeks, his hands still pressed over his mouth and Draco can see his body shuddering. He moves in close, not sure what to do. If it were him, he’d want grounding. He doesn’t cage Harry in, just slides in next to him and says into his ear, “Potter.” That’s it, just the one word.

Potter’s eyes fly open and he looks around wildly, obviously disoriented.

“Potter,” Draco says again, and then, “Harry. _Harry,_ listen to me. You’re okay.”

Harry stares at him and Draco isn’t sure if he actually recognizes him or not until Harry says only, “Malfoy,” and Draco can hear it in the rough cadence of his voice, how close he is to screaming again.

“Harry, can I touch you?” Draco asks urgently and at Harry’s jerky nod, quickly wraps an arm around his shoulders which are trembling under his touch. “Let’s go.”

Harry nods again. Draco steers them through the crowd and tries not to let his heart break at the way Harry is curling into him as if Draco is the only thing standing between him and whatever nightmare his brain has chosen to throw at him right now. And maybe he is, Draco realizes. Maybe he is.

He sends a quick patronus over his shoulder to let the others know that he’s taking Harry home, and to give them some space. As he walks Harry up the street to the trolley stop, Hermione’s otter winds around his legs and says quietly. “Take him home, we’ll get your jackets.”

Draco holds Harry close as the trolley speeds them back to campus, and doesn’t let go even as they come to their front door. Harry seems to be a bit more alert, aware of where he is and where they’re going, but he clings to Draco as he shoves open the door to their suite, and Draco hauls him over to the couch, dropping down and pulling him in.

They’re both sweaty from the club, but Draco ignores it, just holds Harry close until he finally takes a deep, shuddery breath and sits up a bit.

“Malfoy,” he pauses, looking a bit embarrassed. “I don’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Draco interrupts him.

“But…”

“Enough.” Draco sighs. “Potter, do you think I don’t know a panic attack when I see one? You think I haven’t had them myself?”

“Oh.” Harry settles a bit, leans back against the couch and looks at Draco. “Yeah, okay. I guess that makes sense.”

Draco shrugs. He feels itchy, a bit unnerved. And he can’t help the faint flash of regret at having to leave the club so abruptly before he even got so much as his first kiss with a boy. He looks at Harry who has let his eyes close, his fingers tapping on his legs.

“It was fun,” Harry says abruptly. “The club. I… liked it. Did you?”

Draco nods and realizes Harry can’t see him. “Yeah,” he says finally, “Yeah, it was fun. Different from, you know. Back home.”

A smile actually skitters across Harry’s face and he takes another deep breath. “Are there even gay wizarding clubs? I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Yeah, there are few, in London. Manchester, I’ve heard. I’ve never been to one. It’s not that big a thing, I guess, but it’s not as out there as it is here.”

Harry snorts. “Malfoy, I don’t think there's any place in the world is as out there as San Francisco,” and Draco laughs in agreement.

“You may be right about that,” he agrees and there’s a beat of silence that feels sweet, like for just this moment they're in perfect accord.

Draco lets his head tilt back and rest against the back of the couch and stretches his legs out to rest them on the coffee table.

“Sorry,” Harry says quietly and Draco turns to look at him and is startled to find that Harry has also turned, and is now sitting with his legs curled up, facing Draco.

The only light on in the suite is the low light in the kitchen they leave on when they go out at night, and in the dim glow, Harry’s eyes are dark and Draco can’t read his expression at all.

“For what?” Draco asks, honestly confused. “I mean, it’s not like you planned to have a panic attack, right? Of all people, I get it. Shit happens.”

“No, but…” Harry shifts and moves a bit closer. “It was your first time going to a club like that and I… got in the way.”

Draco smiles a bit, chasing away the fact that he’d had that exact same thought just moments ago. “It’s okay.” He lets his eyes close as he shrugs, “I’m sure I’ll go again, it’s fine,” and then his eyes fly open in shock as Harry’s mouth lands on his.

Harry Potter is kissing him and Draco doesn’t know what to do. He freezes as Harry’s mouth moves over his, and then his mouth opens as he gasps, and he can’t help himself, he takes what’s being offered. Harry tastes of liquor and fog, and Draco thinks steam might be rising off of their damp clothes, and it feels like an eternity until Draco’s mind catches up to his body and he presses his hand to Harry’s chest and eases him back.

Harry is red-cheeked and panting a bit and they stare at each other.

“Draco,” Harry whispers and leans in again but Draco stops him.

“What? What are you doing?”

“I just thought,” Harry runs a hand through his hair, “You didn’t get kissed at the club. I thought.”

Draco stares at Harry as anger flashes through him, closing his throat for a second. “Potter, I don’t need a fucking sympathy snog.”

Harry stares back wide-eyed as Draco pushes him away. “No, no, I just. You had to leave to bring me back here and I wanted to say, you know, thank you.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Draco leaps to his feet. “Potter, _stop fucking talking._ You don’t owe me anything, and in any case, you’re fucking straight, did you forget that?” He shakes his head. “Or did you just feel so sorry for me you thought what, that a pity kiss was better than none?”

Harry is sitting where Draco has shoved him. He looks distraught and is trembling, and Draco shakes his head again. “Harry, you’ve had a rough night. How much did you drink, anyway? C’mon, why don’t we just… go to bed.”

He squashes his anger at the kiss, understanding that Harry’s just not thinking things through clearly and ignores the pang that follows the realization that that was it, his first kiss with a boy. Harry just nods and follows Draco into their bedroom. They get ready for bed in silence, and it’s not until they’re both tucked up under their covers that Harry speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “For kissing you. It’s not…” but his voice trails off and he doesn’t finish the sentence.

“It’s okay,” Draco whispers back.

“It was the lights.” Harry says.

“What?” Draco asks, confused.

“In the club, it was the lights, when they flashed green, all of a sudden I just. I remembered.” His voice is hollow and Draco shudders, because he can only imagine just what, exactly, it is that Harry is remembering. He knows all too well the kinds of memories a flash of green light might produce, and wonders for a moment if he’ll ever be able to go to a club again without thinking about that.

“That’s all,” Harry says softly, “I just wanted you to know.”

“Okay,” Draco says. “Let’s just get some sleep, okay?”

In the morning, they don’t talk about it, but something has shifted between them.

**NOVEMBER**

As the days go by, Draco finds the way the six of them fit together just seems to gel into place. It’s not that they don’t make other friends, they all do, but there’s something about having gone through the experiences they have, even if they were on different sides of the war, that brings them to a deeper understanding of each other than they can seem to find with anyone else.

Draco notices that Harry seems to be having a harder time after Halloween. It’s apparently a very important muggle holiday, at least for the Dub-Dub student body, and they celebrate with the rest of their friends, with a bonfire and gin from Mandy’s hip flask. Draco ends up wading in the ocean at midnight with Mandy. He trips and falls into the water, laughing, and lets the salt water wash over him until Mandy pulls him to his feet and they stumble to the shore, breathless. He doesn't realize until the next day that Harry never even came down to the party.

He also begins to notice a couple of nights later, that Harry is starting to have trouble at night. He’s waking Draco up repeatedly with his whimpers and soft cries. Draco lets it go for a few nights, but finally, he thinks, he’s going to have to do something. For one, he’s got an art history exam on Monday, and he needs to get some sleep. And also, well. Harry’s clearly suffering, and Draco finds he can’t turn a blind eye to it any longer.

It’s Saturday night, and it’s just Harry and Draco still in the living room. The two couples have ostensibly “turned in early” to “get a good night’s sleep” and Harry had just grinned and turned up the radio so they can’t hear anything from their roommates. Why no one seems to remember to cast a fucking muffliato baffles Draco but it feels weird to bring it up.

They’re both curled up on the couch, and Draco is listening to the sound of the rain outside as he reads, some stupid muggle novel about the end of the world. Finally, Harry jams his feet under Draco’s thigh and wiggles his toes.

“Fuck off,” Draco says, not looking up from his book, “We’re out of ice cream anyway.”

Harry snorts. “That’s not what I wanted, but anyway, you’re wrong. I bought more this afternoon.”

That draws Draco out of his book and he marks the page with his finger as he looks at Harry and raises one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Harry says exasperatedly, “I got Oreo Mint,” and Draco smiles.

“So, if it’s not about ice cream, what do you want?”

“I’m bored. Entertain me.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I happen to know you’re behind on your criminal justice reading, so you don’t get to be bored.”

Harry flops back and makes a strangled noise of frustration. “I’m so fucking sick of legal stuff. Dark stuff. Criminal fucking justice.”

Draco wanders over to their postage-stamp sized fridge and pulls the ice cream out of the freezer. “S’too late to change this semester, but what about next? We’re meant to be registering soon, aren’t we?”

He hands Harry his favorite Cool Britannia ice cream and a spoon and Harry makes a noise of delight that has Draco stumbling over his feet. He lands on the couch next to Harry and sighs.

“Seriously, why are you taking all this stuff if you don’t want to be an auror anymore.”

Harry looks way too sad for someone eating a large spoonful of his favorite Ben and Jerry’s. “I just feel like… I have to. Like I’ll be disappointing people if I don’t.”

Draco shrugs and digs out a particularly large chunk of cookie from his pint. “So? Like, I get that you feel pressure but, you can get used to disappointing people, Harry. You don’t owe anyone anything at this point.”

There’s a particularly loud thump from Ron and Hermione’s room and a giggle, and Harry shakes his head.

“I don’t know if it’s that easy.”

Suddenly Draco is fed up.

“But that’s the thing, Harry. It really is. You can really just… choose whatever you want to do. Practically all you’ve done since we started classes is study. You’ve barely been out in the city at all. You should, I don’t know. Go exploring. Get drunk and fall in the ocean. Shag a stranger, blow off your revising. I know we’ve got months yet, but you’ve got to start living more.”

Harry is staring at him and looks almost, well, Draco can’t pinpoint the expression on his face.

“Is that what you’ve done?”

“What? Draco asks, a bit confused.

“Explore the city. Get drunk and fall in the ocean. Shag a stranger.” Harry articulates clearly. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“Well,” Draco hedges. “I mean, the ocean thing, yes? At the Halloween Bonfire.”

Harry snorts. “And the rest of it?”

Draco laughs. “I’m always with you lot, aren’t I? Haven’t done a whole lot of exploring, but we should do that. Get out of here, go off campus. Mandy was telling me that Sausalito's really cool, over the Golden Gate bridge.”

Harry’s voice is oddly insistent. “What about the shagging?”

Draco rolls his eyes at him over the ice cream. “Harry Potter, have you seen me with anyone?” Before he realizes what he’s saying, the words come flying out of him. “The only person I’ve even kissed here is you.”

There’s a moment that stretches between them and then Harry turns beet red and says only, “I’m going to bed,” and Draco sighs and eats more ice cream than is really good for him.

By the time he gets into bed, Harry is asleep, curled up in his own bed with his back to the room, blankets shoved down to his waist, and there’s something about the way his spine curves under the thin cotton of his t-shirt that looks so vulnerable it breaks Draco’s heart. He watches Harry’s body move with his sleeping breath and he can’t escape his own truth any longer.

It’s not that he was unaware that he found Harry attractive. He’s _known_ that, but this, this feeling is something different. It’s bigger than just attraction, and it makes his heart feel bruised and somehow too full and too small all at the same time. He wants to take care of Harry, wants to protect him from every painful memory he has, every possible mark that life might put on him, and he knows that it’s not possible. That they’ve been able to create this comfortable friendship between them is more than Draco ever could have imagined possible, and it’s all it can be.

He cares for Harry, far more than he should, and that fact can change nothing between them.

He’s not sure what time it is when Harry’s whimpers wake him. It’s still dark, so dark that dawn must be hours away. Draco rolls onto his back, torn and uncertain. It just feels wrong to ignore him, wrong to leave him alone in his fear.

Draco sits up and says quietly, “Harry.”

There’s no response, nothing to indicate that Harry has heard him. Draco slides out of bed and sits carefully on the edge of Harry’s bed, and says again, a bit louder, “Harry.”

Harry moans and turns over and then winds himself around Draco, burying his face in Draco’s stomach. Draco freezes until he looks down. Harry’s face is crumpled as if he’s fighting back tears, and he’s shaking.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers and then rolls Harry back over towards the wall so that he can wrap himself around him.

Harry presses back against him and one hand comes up to cover Draco’s, where it’s resting on to Harry’s arm. He whimpers again, and Draco can’t tell if he’s asleep or awake. He’s not sure it even matters, as Harry’s breathing evens out, and slowly his body stills, until they’re lying there in the dark, Draco just holding Harry, and he thinks Harry is finally resting.

Draco wakes later, disoriented by the grey light of early dawn that is coming in through the window where Harry forgot to draw the curtains last night. They’ve shifted position while they slept, so now Draco is on his side, facing out to the room, and Harry is pressed up against his back. Harry shifts and Draco realizes what’s woken him. Harry is hard, and moving restlessly against him, his hand pressing against Draco’s stomach with intent. Draco can’t help the swift and audible inhale he takes and he knows Harry hears him, because Harry freezes for a moment and then presses back against Draco and he can feel the hard length of him through the cotton sleep pants they’re both wearing.

“Harry,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, “What are you…”

“Shhh,” Harry whispers and presses against him again. “Please, Draco, can I?”

He shifts his hand down so that it’s resting lightly on Draco’s cock as he waits for Draco to decide.

“Fuck,” Draco hisses, “Harry, what the fuck?”

It feels so good, though, that even as he tries to figure out what exactly is happening here, he’s thrusting forward, chasing the sensation of Harry’s hand on him.

“Please,” Harry whispers again, “Can I?” And his hand moves more purposefully and Draco is lost.

He’s never felt this before, never had someone else’s hand on his cock, and it’s overwhelming, the hot, dry heat of Harry’s palm as he shoves his hand down Draco’s pants and wraps around him.

“Shit, _shit,”_ he moans, thinking somewhere in the dim recesses of his rational mind that he needs to be quiet, the he doesn’t want to wake anyone up.

Harry pauses his movements and Draco can’t help the way his hips jerk, chasing the sensation.

“Please, Draco. Is this okay?” Harry whispers in his ear, sending shivers down Draco’s spine.

Draco gasps again and then whispers, “Yes, Harry. Yes.”

It’s warm under the covers and Draco feels like he’s on fire where Harry is touching him, the way Harry is pressed up against him, his own cock hard and insistent against Draco’s arse. Harry is breathing harshly, gasping in Draco’s ear as he jerks him off and Draco can’t do anything but let himself be carried along for the ride.

It’s over too quickly, Draco overwhelmed by the sensation as Harry’s hand tightens around him, his thumb swiping over the sensitive tip and Draco is groaning and coming, _hard,_ shatttering in Harry’s arms even as Harry yanks him back against his own body, thrusts against him and comes with a grunt, pressing his face to the nape of Draco’s neck. They’re quiet and still in the early dawn light, the silence of the room broken by their gasping breaths.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers. “Harry, that…”

But his voice trails off because Harry is rolling away from him, turning his back to Draco to face the wall, even as Draco feels the soft whisper of Harry’s magic in the cleaning charm that takes away any sign of what has just happened between them. The room is quiet and Draco doesn’t feel like he’s entirely in control of his body, orgasm-stupid and shaking, and the distance between his body and Harry’s in this twin bed feels insurmountable.

He manages to calm himself down, listens to Harry’s breathing as it lengthens and slows, until it evens out as Harry drifts back to sleep, until it feels safe to get up and leave.

They don’t talk about it, in the light of day, but it happens again, the following week, and twice the week after, and by the time Thanksgiving Break rolls around, it’s almost every night. After that first night, it’s always in Draco’s bed now, Harry climbing in with him in the middle of the night, wrapping himself around Draco and jerking him off even as he ruts against Draco and comes.

Each time, Draco wonders, will they talk about it? Will it be something more than this physical interaction that leaves him sated yet somehow empty and aching for more. He only has himself to blame, he knows, because Harry always asks, is the thing. He always whispers, his breath hot in Draco’s ear, “Draco, can I?” And Draco always says yes. So he really only has himself to blame.

Harry continues to act as if nothing has changed between them. He’s looking more rested, his normal cheer restored, Draco thinks sourly, by the regular orgasms and ensuing sleep. He never stays the night next to Draco, though. Harry always cleans him up with the wordless and wandless magic that sends a thrill through Draco, and then retreats to his own bed. Draco hates the way it feels, like Harry’s too ashamed even to acknowledge what’s happening between them, but it feels too good to stop.

It’s the Wednesday before the muggle Thanksgiving holiday, and Draco’s last class has been cancelled, so he’s back in the room, taking a well-deserved nap. He wakes to twilight outside, and the sound of voices out in the living room.

“I can’t believe it’s already almost the end of November,” Ron is saying as Draco stretches and yawns.

“I know,” Harry sounds tired, though Draco knows for a fact that Harry slept just fine the night before.

He’d climbed into bed with Draco at barely half past ten, and been asleep in his own bed by 11:15, and they'd both slept through until their alarm had gone off at 7:30 that morning.

“You know,” Ron says, “I think Kirsty from downstairs really likes you. She was asking me if you were dating anyone.”

“Oh?” Harry sounds… not uninterested, and Draco sits up and leans forward to hear better.

“She’s cute, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “She’s not bad.”

“What do you think?” Ron asks, and Draco frowns at his persistence.

He hears silence for a moment, and pictures Harry slouching back against the couch, shrugging. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m looking for anything serious, you know?”

“It doesn’t have to be serious though,” Ron insists, “Honestly, mate, you could do with a bit of fun. I don’t think I’ve seen you even look at girl this entire term. I know things ended with Gin, so unless you’ve got someone at home waiting that you haven’t told me about….”

Draco can hear the certainty in his voice that this is not even worth considering, that Harry might have someone that he’s not told Ron about. There’s a pause and Draco wonders if this is the moment where Harry will be honest but the next words he says hit Draco hard.

“Well,” Harry’s voice is light and careless, “Maybe after exams, I’ll go out, see if I can pull. Maybe go knock on Kirsty’s door,” and they both laugh.

Draco gets up and walks out to the living room and Harry doesn’t meet Draco’s eyes while Ron loudly complains about the coding errors he’s getting.

The rest of the break is spent studying, as well as deciding what they’ll be taking for the next semester, and Harry stays out of Draco’s bed.

Harry announces late Saturday night that he’s dropping criminal justice.

There’s a collective cheer and Ron pulls Harry into a rough embrace when Harry says quietly, “I’m not going to become an auror. I can’t do it. I don’t want to.”

Ron’s voice is rough as he says, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, mate. Not anymore.”

“I mean,” Hermione speaks up, “This year is about exploring, right? So, you’ve explored that option and decided. What do you think you want to take?”

Harry takes a deep breath and for some reason, he looks over at Draco as he says unsteadily, “I don’t really know. So I’m just picking stuff that sounds interesting, you know?”

Draco finds his own voice. “That’s what I’ve been doing, Harry. That’s what we’ve all be doing. You’re the only one who seemed hellbent on…” his voice trails off as he tries to find the words.

The rest of them all seem to have taken advantage of this chance to step out of their own lives and identities to try something different. Pansy’s been studying fashion design, and apparently has been doing very well. Blaise has loved his class in hotel management and has been talking about opening a Bed and Breakfast in London when they return. Draco knows they have plans to tour properties when he and Pansy go home for the winter break. Hermione and Draco have taken the scattershot approach, and Draco can’t wait for next semester’s classes, where he’s taking such diverse topics as Feminism and the Mystery Novel, and Muggle Pop Music of the 20th Century. And then there’s Ron.

Draco looks at him with a frown, realizing he really doesn’t know what Ron’s been doing, or what he’s planning. “What about you, Ron? What are you taking?”

Ron grins. “Computer science, mate. I’ve been doing some independent projects with my C++ professor and he says I’ve got the knack.” He shrugs and Draco snickers.

“So,” Pansy says quietly, “What are you going to do, Harry?”

Harry looks down at the registration form and then looks around at all of them. “I’m going to write Kingsley and tell him I’m out, and then I’m going to take…” he swallows audibly and then says, “I’m going to take a photography class, and studio art. And psychology. And eastern philosophy.”

His voice is tentative at first, but gains speed and surety as he speaks, and he glances around, as if daring them to say something. It hits Draco that more than any of them, Harry’s still just trying to find his way.

“Oh Merlin,” Blaise groans with an exaggerated drawl, “Say it ain’t so, Potter, you’re going to become a hipster, aren’t you, all plaid flannel and clove cigarettes,” and Harry hits him with a throw pillow and they’re laughing and it’s so right, that Draco’s heart aches.

A week later, as they’re getting ready for bed, Harry asks Draco, “What are you doing for the Winter break?”

Draco’s heart pounds. Things have been a bit awkward between them in their room. Harry hasn’t come to his bed since he realized Draco had overheard him talking to Ron, and they haven’t acknowledged either what they had been doing, or that it’s changed. Harry climbs into his bed and wordlessly casts the nox that sends the room into darkness.

Draco says only, “I’m staying here. I got permission to stay in the dorm. I can’t…” his voice breaks for a moment and he takes a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm, casual even, “I can’t go home. Mother’s going to France and I just, I can’t.”

There’s a pause and then Harry says, “I’m staying too. Ron and Hermione are going to Australia. Blaise and Pansy?”

“They’re going to London.”

Harry’s voice is so quiet, Draco has to strain to hear him. “So, it’ll be just us?”

Draco nods, realizes Harry can’t see him in the darkness of the room, and says, trying for nonchalance, “I guess so.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Draco hears Harry get up, and crosses the small gap between their beds and sits down, so that Draco feels the weight of him on his mattress. Harry reaches out and runs a hand over Draco’s hip, and Draco knows what he wants. He wants Draco to pull back the covers, invite him in, turn his back so Harry can rut up against him without having to look him in the eyes, and all of a sudden, no matter how much his body wants this, his heart can’t take it anymore. He’s had enough. He’s not sure why this is the final straw, but somehow, it is.

“Harry,” he says softly, and even though Harry is silent, Draco knows he hears him, “Harry, I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

There’s a long pause and then Harry says only, “Okay.”

He removes his hand from Draco’s body, and pauses for a long moment, as if waiting for Draco to change his mind. Draco bites his lip to keep from saying anything, and finally, Harry stands and gets back into his own bed, and there are no more words between them.

**DECEMBER**

If hooking up had only made their friendship stronger, stopping it seems to do the opposite. Harry’s still looking lighter, as if he’s dropped a ten tonne load by letting go of becoming an auror, but he’s disconnected from Draco now. Where they used to study together on the couch, or watch the television, or just hang out talking, Harry’s now holed up in their room revising for finals. They’re all frantic and stressed, and Draco can’t really pay much attention to the distance between them. He pushes away the hurt and focuses on his exams. They’re nothing like OWLS but still, he cares, he finds. He wants to do well, wants to prove to himself that he can master these new subjects.

He can’t believe it when he walks out of his final exam into the weak, California sunshine, Hermione next to him as they head back to the dorm.

“That wasn’t too terrible,” she says and Draco rolls his eyes at her affectionately.

“You’ve been ready for this exam for weeks, Granger,” he says fondly. “I think you’ll do just fine.”

Blaise and Pansy had left for London the day before, and Ron and Hermione are leaving that evening, and none of them will be back until the end of January. Draco is looking at six weeks of living alone with Harry, who’s barely speaking to him at this point. He sighs, without thinking and Hermione stops walking and looks at him.

“Just… give him some time,” she says softly, and Draco stares at her. “Harry,” she clarifies, “I know he’s being difficult but. He’ll come around.”

Draco shakes his head, wondering how much Hermione knows. All of it, probably, he thinks.

“I’m not sure I can keep waiting,” he says finally. “I can’t compartmentalize the way he can, you know?”

They resume walking and Hermione asks, “Does he know? How you feel?”

Well, that answers that question. “No,” Draco says. “He doesn’t. We never… talked about it.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and mutters something about “Idiots, the both you, my goodness” and then mercifically drops the subject as they get back to the suite.

There’s a flurry of activity as Ron and Hermione finish their packing and dash for the trolley to SFO. The door shuts behind and the silence in the suite is deafening. Suddenly the time stretching out in front of Draco fills him with anxiety rather than excitement.

He and Harry look at each other for a moment and then Draco says, “I’m going out tonight, are you in?”

Harry shrugs and nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The evening finds them back at Boystown. WIth the winter holidays underway, it’s not crowded at all, and they’re waved right in, checking their coats before they hit the dance floor.

This, Draco thinks a couple of hours later, this is _exactly_ what he’s needed. A night out to lose himself in the dark and the heat and the beat of the music blasting through him. He’ll do more of this, he thinks, get out more, meet other people. He throws his hands in the air and only starts a bit when a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, and he’s pulled against a broad chest. He throws a glance over his shoulder to see a man holding him loosely.

He’s gorgeous — absolutely built, with golden skin, sandy brown hair and dark eyes. He’s wearing a sleeveless vest and tight jeans that mould to thick thighs and he’s completely unlike one Harry James Potter. He’s perfect, Draco thinks. Tonight is the night.

He leans back against the man, lets his head tilt to the side and begins to move with the music. He’s not drunk, not at all. The shots he and Harry tossed back when they first got to the bar have long since worn off, but he feels almost intoxicated by the hard heat of the man behind him, who’s settled his hands low on Draco’s hips to move them together as they dance.

Draco’s not sure how long this goes on, three or four songs at least. He can feel the man, Derek, he’d said into Draco’s ear, is half-hard against him, and as the time has gone one, he’s gotten bolder, pulling Draco closer, and he’s started pressing kisses interspersed with sharp nips along Draco’s jaw, and it feels pretty amazing. Draco’s contemplating if he wants to take it further when suddenly Harry appears in front of him and Draco realizes that he’s not thought about him for at least twenty minutes.

Harry looks a bit disheveled and wild-eyed and Draco eyes him, wondering if he’s drunk. Harry pushes up against him and says insistently “Draco, I want to go.”

Draco stares at him. It’s still relatively early and the last thing Draco wants to do is go back to their empty suite, knowing that for once, he and Harry could be as loud as they wanted, because nothing can happen between them anymore. Draco’s the one who ended it.

“You can head back, Harry,” he says loudly over the noise of the music, “I’m good.”

“No, I don’t.” Harry runs a hand through his hair and then glares at Derek such that he takes a step back and raises his hands.

Draco swivels around to look at him and Derek gives him a regretful smile.

“Sorry, dude, this looks messy and I don’t do messy. Your boyfriend looks like he’s about to punch me in the face.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Draco says firmly and Derek just grins.

“Might want to tell him that, then.” Derek presses a sweet kiss to Draco’s cheek. “You get that sorted out, maybe we can have some fun sometime, okay? I’m usually here on the weekends.”

Draco watches Derek disappear into the crowd and then turns in frustration to Harry.

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t feel good,” Harry says stubbornly, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes. “I want to go home. Take me home.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Draco huffs, but even if there can be nothing more between them, he does care about Harry, so, with a sigh, he gets the coats and meets Harry out front.

As they head back to campus, the exhaustion from the past week of revising and exams starts to catch up with him, and he thinks wearily that maybe getting a not-too-late bedtime is actually not a bad idea. He and Harry are silent as they exit the trolley and walk down to their dorm, and every time Draco glances over at him, Harry is hunched in on himself, and Draco frowns. He really doesn’t look good.

They get into the suite and Draco doesn’t bother turning a light on, and tosses his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Are you okay?” He breaks the silence to ask Harry, who just stares at him.

Draco rolls his eyes and starts towards their bedroom.

“Who was that guy?” Harry finally asks, and Draco bristles at his tone.

“Why does it matter?” His voice is cold, a bit bitter. “I’m not with him now, am I.”

“No.” Harry breathes and suddenly he’s crowding into Draco’s space, pushing him back across the room and up against the wall. “No, you’re not. You’re with me.”

Draco stiffens as he feels Harry’s body pressing against him. “Fuck off, Potter. I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

“I thought maybe you were going to home with him,” Harry breathes into Draco’s ear, “That maybe you were going to let him fuck you, or you fuck him, I don't know. It made me crazy. I couldn’t stand it.”

Draco refuses to look at him. “Are you drunk, Potter? You’re forgetting something.”

“What?” Harry presses his nose into Draco’s shoulder and inhales, as if he’s trying familiarize himself with Draco’s scent after so many weeks. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Draco. Not one thing.”

“You’re _straight,”_ Draco hisses. “Don’t you remember? You’re looking to pull a girl.”

He flushes as he recalls the humiliation he’d felt when he’d overheard Harry talking to Ron, when they hadn’t know he was there. When Harry hadn’t said a word.

Harry pulls back a bit and bites his lip. “Draco. I want you so much.”

And suddenly, Draco is furious, incandescent with rage as he stares at Harry. “Well, that’s just too fucking bad, Potter, because you don’t get to have me. I’m nobody’s dirty little secret.”

Harry flares up as well, and Draco thinks dimly that this could go very, very badly.

“You were never my dirty secret, Draco.”

“Oh no?” Draco is almost breathless with the force of his anger, “Then why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you say you weren’t looking for a girl at all.”

“I’m not ashamed of you, Draco. I wasn’t _ashamed_ , I just. I didn’t know how to tell them. Everyone expects me to be someone,” Harry is shouting now. “Everyone expects me to be this fucking hero, and I am so fucking scared I’m going to let them all down.”

Draco feels his anger give way to hurt. “And being gay? That would let everyone down.” His voice is flat. “Is that how you feel?”

“No. I don’t know.” Harry grabs at his hair and yanks, as if needing the shock to ground him.

Draco shakes his head, and the hurt inside him comes out as disgust that he doesn’t even really feel, but he can’t stop himself as he says carelessly, “You’re a fucking coward, Potter.”

Harry looks up, clearly furious, “Don’t you dare fucking say that, Draco Malfoy.”

“No,” Draco insists, barely aware of what he’s saying, needing only to lash out, needing to make Harry hurt as much as he’s hurting right now, because the idea that Harry is ashamed of himself, of what they did together in the dark, cuts him deep and one thing Draco knows to be true is that he’s never been one to suffer alone.

“You are, you’re a coward, too scared to say no to anyone, too scared to tell anyone the fucking truth.”

“Shut up,” Harry shouts, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Fucking make me,” Draco hisses and suddenly Harry’s wand is at his throat and they both freeze.

Then Harry drops his wand with a hoarse cry and turns away, and Draco realizes he’s crying. Harry moves down the hall and Draco takes a step after him, and then stops. He can’t think of anything to say that might make this better, and from the way Harry shuts the door to their room, Draco thinks he needs to give him some space.

He stops by the door and leans against it. “Um, I’m going to go. Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you’re a coward. You’re probably one of the bravest people I know. And you don’t owe anyone anything anymore. Certainly not me. I’ll… I’ll leave you alone. Give you some space.”

He’s walking away when the door opens and Harry is standing there. Draco stops and turns around. Harry looks smaller somehow, and Draco can’t stand the thought that he’s the one who has put that defeated look on Harry’s face.

“Hey,” is all Harry says and Draco just looks at him. “What the hell just happened there?”

Draco makes his way back to the living room and drops down onto the couch. He doesn’t look over as Harry sits down next to him.

“I don’t know,” he says finally.

“You’re right,” Harry says after a pause and Draco looks at him. “You’re right, that I was scared. I guess I am a coward, when it comes to this. I wasn’t ashamed though, Draco. I never was.”

“Then why?” Draco’s voice breaks and he takes a deep breath. “Then why didn’t we ever talk about it? Why didn’t you ever acknowledge what we were doing?”

“There are things you don’t know,” Harry says finally. “Things about the war. My role. What I was raised to be. Last summer, after that final battle, you have no idea what it was like. Everywhere I went, I got mobbed. People would cry, tell me their horror stories as if it was my job to make them better. People kept asking me what they should do now and I was like…” He shrugs. “Like, how the fuck should I know? I’m 18. I have no idea what _I_ should be doing, let alone anyone else. And then I heard about this program and I just thought, I can just go. Be myself. Not my name.”

Draco nods. “I get that, I really do.”

“And I really did think I was straight,” Harry says a bit ruefully, “I mean, I’d never really been with anyone. I had a crush on Ginny, obviously, but after the war, I just. I didn’t want that anymore. Didn’t want her. I hurt her. That was another good reason to go.”

“I mean,” Draco says, “I hate to point out the obvious, Potter, but straight boys don’t generally climb into another boy’s bed night after night, and come from jacking them off. That’s not, like, really heterosexual behavior.”

Harry flushes and looks almost guilty. “The first time, it was almost an accident, I guess. I woke up and I was so hard and all of a sudden I thought, Draco’s here, and it was all I wanted. You were all I wanted. And I felt better, you know? It felt right somehow, so I just. Kept doing it. I asked,” he says suddenly. “I mean, you did want it too, didn’t you? And anyway, when you stopped it, I realized it was just physical for you.”

Draco sighs. “Harry, it was never just physical for me. That’s why I stopped it, because it seemed like you were never going to want more than that, and it just hurt too much.”

“Wait,” Harry says, “Are you saying you had feelings for me?”

Draco looks away. “Of course I did, you idiot. But it’s not enough for me, being someone’s secret lover, locked away in our room. I needed more. I need it to be real.”

Harry slides his hand onto Draco’s leg and Draco can’t help the thrill that runs through him at Harry’s touch. “What about now?”

“What are you asking, exactly” Draco can’t believe how stready his voice sounds, given the way his heart seems to want to burst out of his chest right now.

“Draco, you’re right. You’ve been right about all of it. I don’t want to be an auror. I don’t even know if I want to go back to England. I don’t want to be someone I’m not anymore. I want to be who I am.”

“And who is that?” Draco asks softly and there’s a moment of silence that feels like the edge of dawn.

“Just… Harry,” Harry says finally. “Harry James Potter. Someone who’s not their leader anymore. Someone who doesn’t have it all figured out, who doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, but knows how he feels. Someone who doesn’t want to chase dark wizards but wants to help the world heal. Maybe make art. Or learn to cook. Or plant a garden. I don’t know. I just want to be someone who’s happy. Someone who loves.” He takes a deep breath. “Someone who’s not straight.”

They stare at each other for a long moment and then Harry’s hand comes up and he skims his knuckle across Draco’s cheek and Draco can’t believe that half an hour ago, Harry was about to hex him and now they’re here. Doing this. Whatever this is.

“I realized when I saw you with that guy that you were almost gone. I mean, not like you were mine or anything but it made me realize that I was being such an idiot. That you had no idea how I felt. Because I’d never said anything. Maybe you don’t feel the same way anymore, but Draco, I…”

His eyes are dark and clear in the low light of the apartment, and Draco wants him so much, he aches with it.

“If your feelings have changed, I understand that.” Harry says this quietly and Draco shakes his head, smiling ruefully.

“You really are an idiot, Harry. Nothing’s changed.”

“Then, what do you want?”

“I want to be with you,” Draco says. “But I don’t want to hide in the shadows, I don’t want to fuck in the dark. I want to hold your hand in front of friends, explore the city with you.” He grins, “Get drunk and fall in the ocean, I don’t care. Just… whatever it is, I want it with you. Out loud. For real.”

Harry is grinning right back at him and then stands up and holds his hand out. “Come to bed?” He flushes, “I don’t mean… We don’t have to… but.”

As Draco looks at him standing there, holding out his hand as if he’s offering Draco the whole world, and maybe he is, Draco thinks. He knows what he wants, and he reaches up and takes Harry’s hand, lets himself be pulled to standing.

“I want to, though,” he says in a low voice and watches with delight as Harry visibly shudders at his tone. “I want to, with you.”

“Fuck, Draco, are you sure?”

Draco nods.

Words are no longer needed as they make their way to the bedroom. Harry shuts the door and casts a quick lumos. The room isn’t bright, but it’s lit enough so they can see each other clearly and Draco closes his eyes for a moment, realizing that Harry heard him. Really heard him. He opens them and looks at Harry standing between their beds, arms at his sides, waiting for Draco to decide.

Draco moves over, reaches one hand up to cup Harry’s face and pull him in for a kiss, skimming the other down over Harry’s arm to land on his hip.

“What do you want, Harry?” He breathes, feeling almost drunk on the idea of what they can do to each other now that the limits are lifted.

He leans in and it hits him, that since that first time that Harry kissed him, they’ve never kissed again. This feels different, this moment. It feels big, and overwhelming, and so purposeful. Draco looks at Harry, and Harry looks back, a smile quirking over his lips and then they move together, meeting in the middle in a kiss that is immediately hot and searing.

Draco feels Harry’s lips part under his own and he shifts the angle so he can deepen the kiss, moving soley on instinct now as he flicks his tongue across Harry’s lips and into his mouth. He loses himself in the heat and taste of Harry’s mouth, becoming aware that they’re rocking together.

“Bed,” Harry whispers, “Draco please, on the bed.”

They separate, both breathing heavy, and then Harry grins, yanks of his t-shirt and drops down onto the bed, opening his arms up for Draco, who hastily yanks his own shirt off and follows him down. They kiss for moments or hours, Draco will never be sure, and Harry rolls them over, kissing over Draco’s chest. He pauses as he comes across the scars, thin silver lines that crisscross over Draco’s chest, and looks up to meet Draco’s eyes with a haunted expression.

“No,” Draco says forcefully, yanking him into another searing kiss. He murmurs against Harry’s mouth, “No, we're not doing that. Be here now, Potter, right here, right now, with me. Okay?”

Harry shakes his head for a moment and then sighs, “Draco, I just. I’m so.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco whispers and kisses him again. “If you want to apologize, it’s going to have to wait. That’s not what I need from you right now.”

At that, the regret in Harry’s eyes retreats a bit and he looks back, focusing on Draco. A smirk crosses his face and he raises one eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what is that, then”

Draco grabs him and rolls his hips up against Harry, knowing he can feel how hard Draco is.

“What do you fucking think?” He asks, exhilaration thrumming in his bones.

Harry begins kissing Draco again, and then moves down his body, focusing first on his nipples, then tracing the scars with his tongue in a move that has Draco writhing and cursing under him. He slides a bit lower and glances up, and Draco thinks he looks almost mischievous.

“You want my hand? Or my mouth, hmm?”

Almost undone simply at the idea of it, Draco presses a hand to his cock and will himself not to come on the spot.

“Fuck,” he groans, and it hits him, they’re the only ones on the floor, the only ones in the building, and he can be as loud as he wants. “Your mouth, Potter, I want your fucking mouth.”

Harry’s eyes gleam as he sits up and makes quick work of Draco’s denims, helping Draco wiggle them down his hips so he can kick them off to the side and lie back, hard and leaking against his belly. A look of something that might be lust and might be apprehension crosses his face as Harry gets his first look at Draco’s cock and reaches out to trace his thumb up the hard line of it.

“Err,” he says a bit awkwardly, “I’ve never done this before, you’re going to have to talk me through it.”

Draco looks at him and then says, “Harry, I’ve never done it either. Either way. So, I’m as clueless as you, but I think anything you do is going to feel fantastic and I’ll tell you if it’s not, okay? And you’ll do the same?”

Harry nods and exhales. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmurs and then leans down to follow the path his thumb had taken with his tongue and Draco cries out, helpless at the sensation.

Harry takes it slow, tasting and licking around the head of Draco’s cock like he’s getting used to the sensations on his tongue. He can’t take much in his mouth without coughing, so he wraps his hand around the base and sucks the tip into his mouth, and it only takes about two swipes of his tongue before Draco is shouting out an ecstatic warning, and Harry pulls off as Draco comes, arching off the pillows with a cry.

“Shit, shit,” Draco hisses, gasping and trying to catch his breath, the aftershocks still sparking under his skin.

He stares up at Harry who is staring back at him as if he’s never seen Draco before, as if he’s seeing something rare and precious, something beautiful. He’s panting a bit, and Draco can see where he’s hard and leaking in his denims.

“Off,” Draco says frantically, working at the button at Harry’s waist, “Get these off.”

Laughing, Harry obliges stripping down until he’s standing in front of Draco wearing nothing but a smile and he’s so beautiful, he takes Draco’s breath away.

“What?” Harry asks, looking a bit self-conscious, as Draco stares at him, never having been allowed to look before. He catalogues the slope of Harry’s shoulders, the curve of his bicep, the scars he carries, the jut of his hip and the heft of his cock.

“Come here,” he says finally, “For Merlin’s sake, Harry, please.”

Harry slides onto to the bed next to Draco and runs his hand over Draco’s hip as Draco leans over to grab his wand. He quirks an eyebrow as Draco points his wand at his own hand and mutters the spell every Hogwarts boy learns by fourth year, and then his eyes open wide as Draco, instead of reaching for Harry’s cock, spreads the warm, fragrant oil between his own thighs. He stares at Draco and then closes his eyes for a moment, as if overwhelmed even by the thought of what Draco is inviting him to do, and then Draco lies back, presses his legs together, and Harry settles onto him as if he’s a key, slotting into place.

“Fucking Merlin, Draco,” Harry murmurs and begins to move, slowly at first, and then faster as he settles into a rhythm, fucking deep between Draco’s thighs, the head of his cock bumping up under Draco’s balls as he shifts his angle.

Draco moans. The feel of Harry thrusting against him, staring down at him, is overwhelming, and he can’t seem to look away. He watches the way Harry braces himself on his forearms as he thrusts, the his breath comes short and harsh, the way his face looks as he watches Draco watching him, until a look of something almost like pain crosses his face, his whole body shudders and his eyes close as his mouth opens, a cry wrenched seemingly from the center of his being as he comes.

He freezes above Draco, his body still shifting a bit as he starts to come down from what looks to have been a spectacular orgasm, and then his eyes open, and he gives Draco a look of such love that Draco wonders how he’s kept it hidden until now, because it’s all right there on his face, all the words they haven’t said yet.

And then Harry opens his mouth and says, “I’ll tell them when they get back. Sooner, if you want.”

“What?” Draco stares at him as Harry carefully extracts himself with a wince, and then settles in beside Draco to rest his head on Draco’s chest.

Draco makes a face at the feel of Harry’s come cooling between his thighs, then it occurs to him that they can shower and sleep in his bed, leaving the mess in Harry’s bed for tomorrow.

“Our friends,” Harry says and Draco takes a long deep breath. “I’ll tell them we’re together, that I’m not straight. I’m not ashamed, Draco,” he says fiercely, “I’m not ashamed of who I am. It just took me some time to figure out. To find my courage again. That’s all.”

Draco threads his fingers through Harry’s hair and holds him close. “We’ll tell them together,” he says finally. “When they get back.”

As they lie together in the dark, it feels, Draco thinks, like that moment after the storm blows through, when the clouds part and the world feels new, washed clean somehow, and the sun shines again.


	2. I'm With You (Always)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's Point of View

**JULY**

“There.”

Harry jabs at the paper so hard it starts to crumple under his finger.

“That’s the one.”

They’re sitting at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place and the dark of the basement kitchen is so oppressive, it makes Harry want to scream. He’s sitting across the table from Hermione and Ron who are watching him with identical expressions. The war has been over for two months, three weeks, and five days, and Harry hasn’t slept through the night once since Voldemort had been defeated.

Ron leans over, reading upside down. “Western Wizarding University in San Francisco?” His gaze is clear in the low light of the kitchen. “You want to go to California?”

Harry shrugs, exhausted. “I don’t really care about California, I just. I can’t be here.” He hears the pleading tone in his own voice. “I thought with Voldemort dead, it would be over, but it’s not.”

He knows they understand. Hermione had been mobbed in Diagon Alley the other day; the bruises are only just fading from her cheek. Harry can’t even leave his house these days, with the “fans” camped outside, and he cannot understand how Kingsley thinks he could be an effective auror with the way things are right now. The Burrow has been under siege by reporters and “fans” trying to catch a glimpse of the golden trio such that Mr. Weasley has had to petition for auror-grade wards around the house.

The war may be won but it doesn’t feel over.

Harry takes a deep breath. “I’ve already decided. I know you’ll be disappointed, but…”

His voice trails of as Ron and Hermione exchange one of those looks that says more, perhaps, than any words can, and then Ron shrugs.

“Sounds like an adventure, doesn’t it, mate? San Francisco’s on the ocean, right? Better weather? I think it sounds good.”

Hermione smiles, her brown eyes sparkling. “I was looking at their course offerings, Harry, and it does sound fun, doesn’t it? They got this amazing integrative approach, blending muggle and wizard knowledge and history. I’ve already picked out a few classes that I think look interesting.”

Harry stares at them, open-mouthed. “Wait, what?”

Ron leans across the table to clasp Harry’s hand. “We’re coming with you, Harry. You can’t think we’d let you go by yourself? Unless,” a shadow crosses his face, “Unless that’s what you want?”

“What?” Harry’s eyes fill suddenly, but they do that a lot these days, and they’ve all learned not to comment on it. “But how did you know?”

Hermione just laughs. “When will you learn, Harry, you nowhere near as subtle as you think you are. Don’t you know that by now? You left that San Francisco guidebook on your coffee table, and you’ve been muttering about portkey schedules for a week now. We knew you wouldn’t want to stay.”

Harry stares at them both and then feels a smile break his face. “I didn’t want to ask you, I know you’ve both…”

Hermione lays her hand on top of Ron’s, which is still holding Harry’s. “You’re not asking, Harry. We’re offering. We want to go. I think we could all use a break, don’t you? Spend some time taking care of ourselves for once.”

Harry nods and wiggles his hand around so he can wrap his fingers around both of their hands.

“Okay. San Francisco.”

He remembers the letter he’d sent off that morning and sighs. He thinks there’s no way that Malfoy would pick a place like California, so decides it’s best just not to mention it. They’ve got a lot to do before they go, and all of a sudden, for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s got something worth looking forward to.

**SEPTEMBER**

Harry is exhausted. He’d had no idea the furor he would set off when he’d announced to Kingelsey that he’d accepted a spot at Western Wizarding U for the year. That afternoon in July, he, Hermione and Ron had talked to Madame Penrose, the newly appointed minister of magical education, who’d been delighted to set the exchange year up for them, and had promised them she’d tell no one. She’d kept that promise.

Kingsley had been furious but ultimately had claimed he’d understood and said heartily, “Well, we’ll just hold your spot in next year’s training class then, Harry. They’ve got a good criminal justice program, you can take classes there, those will keep you from falling too far behind.”

Harry had sighed, and tried to put aside the flash of resentment that no one seemed to have wondered if he still even wanted to be an auror. He can’t think of anything else to do instead, so he’d just nodded and agreed to Kingsley’s plan. At least he’ll be far away, he’d thought, leaving Kingsley’s office. Maybe it would even be interesting. At least he won’t be here, drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations. All he wants is some room to breathe.

Molly had cried but pulled Harry and Ron into a warm hug and said only, “I understand. We’ll miss you terribly, but I think you’re right.”

So, here they are, bleary after the international jump and the stop in Chicago. Ron had discovered deep dish pizza at O’Hare Portkey International, and Harry thinks he may never be the same. They’d had to promise that pizza in San Francisco will be just as good before he’d been willing to go to the portkey gate. Hermione has been going over the course catalog; it’s battered and dog-eared at this point. She’s confided in Harry that she plans to try a variety of classes, since the offerings are so different from Hogwarts.

They’ve navigated the trolley ride through the city, talked with Peg in registration and gotten their orientation folders and room key, and made their way across campus and down the hill towards their dorm. It smells like the ocean and the sun is setting over the horizon as they approach their door. Peg had mentioned that their roommate had arrived yesterday, and Ron is fretting as he and Hermione levitate their trunks that are waiting for them outside the door, while Harry wrestles with the door.

“I'm just saying,” he says as Harry presses the key into the lock, “It’s going to be weird, living with strangers.”

The door opens and Harry turns to look back at Ron as they make their way into the room. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” he says, and then as he turns back to the room, there’s sudden movement as a guy sitting at the table leaps to his feet and Harry freezes because standing right in front of him is Draco Malfoy.

Harry’s wand slips out of his fingers and clatters to the floor as he stares at Malfoy. Malfoy looks different. The last time Harry had seen him, he’d been almost grey, gaunt and exhausted. Now he looks, well. Different. He’s filled out a bit and, Merlin, he’s done something with his hair. It’s shaved underneath and flopping in his eyes in a way that looks cool and deliberate, not messy the way Harry’s hair always looks, and fuck, he’s got teal-blue streaks in the blond and he looks. Harry swallows. He looks good, is all. Well-rested.

Hermione lets their trunks down gently and there’s a moment of silence. Harry registers Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, who’ve also risen to standing from where they’ve clearly all been eating pizza out of the box, and it feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting to see what will happen.

Harry sees Malfoy’s chest rise as he takes a deep breath and then, holding out his hand, simply says, “Potter. Welcome to Dub-Dub.”

Harry is pretty sure his mouth is gaping open as he watches Malfoy’s eyes flicker from him to Ron and Hermione. Suddenly Harry is sick of all of it, their history, their anger, their fear.

He takes a deep breath of his own and steps forward to grasp the outstretched hand and says only, “Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s hand is warm, his clasp firm as they shake, and then he steps back, and Harry turns under the pretense of getting his trunk moved a bit, to give himself a moment to get under control.

Ron catches his eyes and says quietly, “Did you know?” and Harry just shakes his head, as he moves over next to the gubby couch for a moment, just to catch his bearings.

He hadn't known. He’d wondered, but he hadn’t known and all of a sudden, Harry can’t quite remember what it was he’d hoped for. Sure, there’s terrible history between them all, blood spilled and words that can’t be unspoken. But, on the way to campus, Harry had been struck by the sense of the absolute divide between himself and the American students, the feeling that he’d had that there was no way these students could possibly understand his experiences. Even Peg’s references to “The Difficulties” had only served to underscore how little these people seemed to know about what had actually been happening across the Atlantic.

So, while he can only think that it’s going to be horrifically awkward, living with Slytherins, there’s also something weirdly comforting about it, like at least they’re something familiar. And, Harry knows, they’ve all denounced their own part in the war. He’d received an awkward letter from Pansy apologizing for trying to hand him over to Voldemort and had sent back his own, equally awkward, “Apology accepted, water under the bridge etcetera etcetera” note. Of course, he hadn’t actually expected to be sharing a flat with her six weeks later.

“Well,” Zabini says brightly, “This is terribly awkward, isn’t it?”

Harry hears Hermione sigh behind him as she fusses with her folder. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m even surprised at this point.”

Harry sees Parkinson frown. “It was this or Singapore and none of us speak Mandarin. We needed to get as far away as possible.”

Hermione fixes her with a steady gaze and says only, “What makes you think we didn’t need the same thing?” and Parkinson stills for a moment, and then nods.

“So,” Ron says, and Harry can tell he’s trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s the rooming situation?”

Malfoy sits back down at the battered table and picks up the slice of pizza he’d been eating and Harry thinks distantly that he’s never seen Malfoy so… casual before. “There are three doubles. Blaise and Pansy are down at the end. I’m right there.”

Malfoy points at the door of the first room down the hallway, closest to the living room. There’s a long pause and Harry knows what’s coming even as Ron and Hermione stare at each then turn as one to look at him.

“Harry,” Hermione says uncertainly and Harry slumps down onto the couch with a groan.

Of course. _Of course_ this is how this will go. His one chance to get the fuck away from the wizarding world and he’s going to be spending the year rooming with Draco Fucking Malfoy. But then he looks at Ron and Hermione, remembers their unwavering support and loyalty, thinks of everything they’ve given to him, and everything they’ve given up for him, and sighs, burying his face in his hands. It’s going to be awkward as fuck, he thinks, but he’ll make it work. He has to.

“Fine,” Harry says, his voice muffled. “It’s fine, Hermione.”

“Are you sure, mate?” Ron asks, also looking anxious and hesitant and Harry looks up to meet his eyes.

“It’s fine, Ron. Go on.”

Harry sits for a moment longer on the couch, and watches Ron and Hermione levitate their things down the hall and into the middle room. At least, he consoles himself, he won’t have to overhear whatever late-night shenanigans Parkinson and Zabini may get up too, and thinks for a moment that he’d not seen that pairing coming. His rumination is interrupted by Draco’s voice.

“Wait, what?” Draco is gasps and turning to look frantically at Zabini and Parkinson. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Harry takes that as his cue to stand up and levitates his trunk towards his, no, _their,_ room with grim determination. “Nope. It’s you and me, Malfoy.”

“But,” Malfoy drops his pizza and stands up as well. “Potter. Don’t you think this is… a not good idea? A very bad idea, in fact?”

Malfoy follows Harry into the bedroom as he carefully sets his trunk down near the obviously unoccupied bed. Harry takes a moment to survey his home for the next year. It’s fairly small, with two twin beds and desks and that’s about it, and he wonders for a moment, how it will go, basically living on top of Malfoy for the year.

“Well,” Harry shrugs. “Blaise and Pansy are together, yeah? So are Ron and Hermione. That leaves… us.” He opens his trunk and rummages around to pull out some cotton pants and a t-shirt, and then just gives up to flop down onto the bed and drape his arm over his eyes. “Honestly, Malfoy, I’m too knackered to do anything tonight. Can’t we just get some sleep and hex each other tomorrow?”

There’s a long pause and then, “I don’t want to hex you,” Malfoy says, so quietly that Harry almost can’t hear him.

Harry pulls his arm away to look over at Malfoy. He knows he really should go change and get ready for bed, he can tell sleep is about to overwhelm him, but they’ve got to settle this.

“What do you want? Nice hair, by the way.”

Harry cringes a bit when he hears the words escape him, but fuck it, it’s true. Malfoy does look good, and he watches as Malfoy runs a hand over the shaved back of his head.

“I just want. To be left alone. To have some space.”

Harry gives up and casts a half-hearted tooth cleaning charm at his mouth, and says, “I can do that, Malfoy.”

And he can, he knows. In a way, it doesn’t feel all that different from so many of the other things he’s had to handle. It’s unexpected, and certainly unpleasant, but the potential for lethality is low, which means it’s just another thing he has to survive, and he can do that. So he won’t get away in quite the way he’d hoped, he can adjust to that. Although, it hits him, his new roommates were just as eager to get away as he was, and ran just as far. Maybe they’ll be reinventing themselves together.

He rolls over and closes his eyes. “But, like I said. I’m exhausted. All I want to do right now is to go to bed. We can work the rest out tomorrow, okay?”

And somehow, that’s it. That’s all it takes. Malfoy casts a quiet nox and says softly, “Sleep well, Potter,” and leaves the room, and Harry lies there in the dark, listening to his own breathing, wondering how the hell he’s ended up here. If later, a few tears slip down his cheeks at how much has changed, well, no one needs to know. He reminds himself, no one knows them here. He’s left the the myth of Saint Potter back in London. He doesn’t have to live in the shadow of that any more.

Over the next few days, Harry is surprised at how easily they slip into living together in this small flat. The first morning they’d woken up together had been weird, but Malfoy had finally cleared his throat and asked, “So, are you going to hex me, then?” and Harry had simply shaken his head and headed into the bathroom and that had been that.

They attend some of the orientation events and Harry gets to meet Mandy, the muggle-born witch from Chicago who had met the others on the ride, and apparently that was all it had taken for them to become fast friends. She has no idea who they’ve all been, back home, and it’s the strangest feeling, Harry realizes, getting to know someone who has no preconceived notions of who he is. She friendly and cute, and seems, Harry thinks more than once, quite taken with Draco in particular.

Harry also doesn’t quite know what to make of a bunch of Slytherins who aren’t testing anyone, aren’t flexing power but instead seem to look as out of place as he feels. He doesn’t know what to make of a rumpled Malfoy first thing in the morning, or a sleepy Parkinson late at night, drinking herbal tea, and the first time he calls Zabini “Blaise,” no one seems to notice that the the earth has shifted.

“Oi, Potter, Harry.” Zabini raps on Harry’s door which is ajar and sticks his head. “We’re ordering pizza, you want in?”

Harry looks up from his textbook with a grimace. “What time is it?”

“Half past eight,” Zabni says with a grimace, “You should put the light on, mate, it’s way too dark to be reading in here.”

Harry rubs his head and sighs. He’s taking criminal justice classes and is finding the work challenging in a number of ways, not the least of which is that university-level work requires a lot more out-of-class work, and he’s not been a student for a year and a half. Even Hermione is finding it demanding, though she seems to be having a lot more fun than Harry is. He looks up to see Zabini watching him patiently with a small smile and can’t help smiling back.

“Yeah, definitely,” he says, belatedly realizing that Zabini’s asked him a question. “Shit, I was going to the caf with Ron and Hermione.”

Zabini rolls his eyes at him. “They left an hour ago, mate. Hermione said something about you being ‘in the zone’ and not wanting to disturb you.”

“Ugh,” Harry says, dropping the heavy book on the bed. He casts a lumos and squints at the bright light. “Where are you ordering from?”

“North Beach,” Zabini says. “You need a menu?”

Harry shakes his head and gets up to root around in his backpack for some money. He still isn’t used to the fact that they're using muggle currency. _American_ muggle at that. He pulls out some crumpled bills and tries for a moment to calculate the exchange rate and gives up.

“What do you want?” Zabini asks and then seemly responding to something from the living room, “Yeah, hold on, Draco, Harry’s gonna order too.”

Harry blinks and realizes why that sounded odd. Zabini is calling him by his first name. “Uh,” he stutters for a moment, “Pesto, extra cheese, artichoke hearts and chicken.”

Zabini looks thoughtful, “That sounds better than what I was thinking, want to get a large and split it?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “Yeah, that sounds good, Blaise,” and Blaise simply smiles at him and says “I’ll let you know when it gets here,” and Harry hands him some money, and that’s it.

**OCTOBER**

Harry walks down the hallway to his seminar room, trying to ignore the feeling of dread in his stomach. He hates this class. He doesn’t really like most of his classes, honestly. He’s taking Intro to Criminal Justice, Intro to Human Communication (which is actually pretty interesting and the least terrible of his clases), Dangerous and Violent Offenders and this class, Victimology. The professor, Dr. Jensen, is not bad, actually. She’s a muggle-born witch with degrees in Criminal Justice and Psychology, and she’s got fascinating case stories for everything they’ve studied so far, but it just. This class makes Harry want to rip his skin off.

It’s clear he’s not the only student in the class with a history of something. Trauma, he’s learned to call it, not that that helps. He does think he’s the only one of the 18 students in the class who went to war at the age of 14. He’s struggling with the concepts the teacher is presenting — the idea that life experiences leave psychological and emotional scars as well as physical. It’s not that he doesn’t know this, but he doesn’t want it to be true. Wants to believe that his friends, and by extension, himself, could have come through all that they’ve experienced undamaged. Maybe a bit battered and bruised, but no permanent harm done.

Their teacher emphasizes again and again, that people react in different ways, that each person is an individual, but the data she presents suggest that Harry is, to put it mildly, screwed. Some days, he leaves lecture with his head spinning, trying to make sense of it all. At home, everyone seems to assume he’s impervious, that he’s been left entirely unscathed by the horror of the war, and here, it seems like it’s a wonder he gets his shoes on the right feet every morning.

He is pretty sure that’s not the conclusion she’d want him to draw, but he’s not sure how else to see it.

It’s another difficult lecture, another discussion that leaves him aching and sad for all the pain in the world, leaves him feeling helpless to do anything about it even as a small voice whispers in the back of his mind, _haven’t you done enough for the world already?_

As he wanders back to the suite, he thinks about the last several weeks, and shakes his head a bit. It doesn’t feel like weeks, it feels like months. As they’ve settled into this new life, they’ve all settled down as well. Ron has thrown himself into his computer science classes and has built his own computer. Hermione’s dived deep into her odd and diverse coursework, and she and Malfoy have become regular study partners. Pansy’s doing something with fashion and has not only taken to the muggle clothing styles they’ve all adopted with absolute gusto, but has insisted on helping all of them fill out their wardrobes. Blaise is doing something with something called “hospitality management,” as he often declares quite grandly, and he’s been exchanging letters with a realtor in London and is apparently planning to open his own hotel. Harry’s the only one not fully loving his coursework.

He and Malfoy don’t talk a lot, but it’s okay. They’re oddly compatible as roommates. They both like to stay up and study, and then sleep in as late as they can get away with. Malfoy doesn’t snore, and takes regular, albeit long showers, and he seems to have every shower gel known to humankind, but it could, Harry thinks, be far worse. The issue, Harry is realizing, is that he’s having trouble… looking away from Malfoy these days.

After the war, he and Ginny had tried to rekindle their romance, but something had changed, and it wasn’t until Ginny had finally confronted him, telling him she wanted something different, that he’d realized how much he’d been holding onto the fantasy of her, holding so tightly that he couldn’t see the real, live person right in front of him. They’d managed to stay friends, but Harry has to admit, having 8,600 kilometers between them isn’t a bad thing. He doesn’t want her anymore, but he’s not sure seeing her with Neville would be easy. Especially since he’s so very single these days.

However, since he’s been here, he’s been noticing that it’s not the curves of the young witches around him that capture his eye, and he’s starting to think that that maybe they never did. These days he’s drawn to something leaner. Muscular thighs and the curve of a bicep under a t-shirt. The hard planes of a masculine chest. The shadow of stubble on a sharp jaw.

He’s not a fool. Harry knows what this means, and if he’s being honest, he’s probably known it for years, but he’s not ready to say it out loud. Even if the wizarding world has made dubious peace with queer witches and wizards, it’s another thing entirely for their saviour to be gay. And gay with Malfoy, if Malfoy were even so-inclined? Off-limits. End of story.

He rounds the corner of the building and freezes, because sitting outside their door in one of the cheap plastic chairs Ron had hauled back the other day, looking as if he’s been gilded by the glow of the sun sinking low over the Pacific, is Draco Malfoy. Harry sighs, and then makes his way down the balcony to drop into the chair next to Malfoy, groaning as he hits the chair.

Malfoy glances over at him, and without a word, reaches down and grabs a beer out of the six-pack at his feet and hands it to Harry. It’s a warm day and the cold beer feels wonderful in his hand as he twists off the cap and takes a long drink.

“Tough day?” Malfoy’s voice is warm and Harry wonders if he looks as rough as he feels.

He rests the beer on his knee and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess. My Victimology class, this week we’re doing consequences of victimization and it’s just.” He sighs. “I feel so much older than so many of these people here.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Malfoy nod.

“And then,” Harry studies the beer and then looks out at the sunset. “We’ve got an exam Monday in my intro to Criminal Justice and it’s just... not that interesting.”

“Why are you studying those things?” Malfoy’s voice is loud in the quiet afternoon and Harry looks over at him in surprise.

“I beg your pardon?”

Malfoy waves in Harry’s direction, presumably at the books and binders stuffed into the heavy backpack at his feet.

“Why are you studying that stuff? I guess I’d have thought you’d maybe had enough of that. And, I don’t know. You don’t seem to be enjoying it all that much, honestly.”

Harry shrugs. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. And anyway, everyone expects me to be an auror when I get back. You won’t believe how hard I had to fight to get away for this year.”

He tries not to let any bitterness bleed into his voice but it’s hard.

“Fight? Fight who?” Malfoy asks, obviously confused. “I mean, you’re a legal adult. Can’t you do what you want?”

Harry thinks back to the disappointment on Kingsley’s face, the tears Molly had cried even though she’d offered the support he’d so desperately needed. He thinks back to the articles and the photos in the Prophet, day after day, speculating on what he would do now, trying to predict his future from his regular coffee order. The tears that would start as soon as he walked out the door, the way everyone needed him. He may be an adult, but he’d never felt less in charge of his own life. At least here, he can walk around freely, although he’s always aware of what he has to go back to.

Even so, with the bit of freedom he feels he’s managed to claw out from underneath all the expectations, he’s exhausted. As October progresses, he knows he’s getting more and more frayed around the edges, and he’s pretty sure the nightmares, which had subsided for a weeks when they’d first arrived, are starting to creep back in.

“Just, you know. Kingsley wanted me to go right into training. Molly wanted me to stay. Not to mention Ron and Hermione, of course.”

Harry can’t help the soft look that crosses his face as he says their names, and he knows he’ll never stop being thankful and grateful for their friendship. He knows he’d never have survived the war without them, and as he’d said to Hermione the other day when the pasta he’d been trying to cook had burst into flames, he’s not sure he could do post-war life without them either.

She’d briskly extinguished the flames, cleaned the mess with a flick of her wand and tossed him the Thai menu as she’d said with a grin, “Good thing you’ll never have to, hmm?”

Harry hears Draco’s sudden inhale, and his voice is rough as he asks, taking another sip of his beer, “Well, what would you want to study? If you could pick anything?”

Harry stares at the ocean in astonishment as it hits him again. No one has ever asked him this. No one’s ever encouraged him to be anything other than a martyr for the cause, and the setting sun blurs a bit.

Feeling suddenly exposed, and too vulnerable, he says only, “I… Fuck, I don’t even know.” Eager to change the subject, he asks, “What are you taking?”

“Doesn’t really matter.” Harry watches Draco shrug. “I really just wanted to learn something new, you know? I don’t care what it is.”

They spend another half hour or so, just sitting together watching the waves and the sunset, and Harry is helpless to keep his eyes from drifting back to Malfoy’s face, again and again, as he ponders Malfoy’s question. And he can’t help noticing, more often than not, that when he looks at Malfoy, Malfoy’s looking right back at him.

Later when they’re getting ready for bed, it hits him and he says suddenly, “Maybe, philosophy?”

“What?” Malfoy is finishing brushing his teeth, and pokes his head out into the bedroom to look at Harry. “What are you talking about?”

“Just,” Harry shoves his textbooks down to the foot of his bed and flops onto his back, “I think it’s interesting, you know? Thinking about that stuff.”

He watches through the open door as Malfoy dries his hands and flicks off the light as he exits the bathroom. “What, you think thinking about… thinking is… interesting?”

Harry snickers and then they’re both laughing, and Draco looks so young and is somehow radiant in his old t-shirt and plaid cotton sleep trousers and Harry’s heart is pounding. And then, suddenly, Harry hears from the room next door, a soft moan and then the sound of a bed shuddering against the wall.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Malfoy mutters, and Harry takes that as his cue to head into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

The irony hits him and he snickers around his toothbrush. “Seems like everyone here’s getting laid but us, huh, Malfoy?”

Harry freezes as he hears Malfoy say, “Speak for yourself, Potter.”

What? Harry feels his heart drop rather unpleasantly into his gut as he finishes brushing his teeth. He hasn’t heard Malfoy talk about anyone, and they’ve barely gone out at all. So far, they haven't really explored the city much, preferring instead to get their feet under them on campus. They’ve spent time hanging out together, or over at Mandy’s but it’s been relatively sedate on the social life front. Maybe, Harry thinks unhappily as he rinses his toothbrush, maybe Malfoy’s been hanging with someone on the side and hasn’t mentioned her. He tries to imagine the sort of witch that might draw Malfoy’s eye and somehow can’t quite do it. She’s probably gorgeous, he thinks gloomily, as he heads back into the bedroom, casts a careless nox and slides into bed.

They lie in silence for a moment and then Harry is startled out of his irritation at the sleek and sophisticated witch wrapped around Malfoy in his imagination.

“What?” Draco asks.

“You’re seeing someone?” Harry asks the question without thinking about it, hoping he doesn’t sound as annoyed by the prospect as he weirdly feels.

Malfoy laughs. “No.”

Harry screams at himself to shut up but can’t stop his mouth, apparently. “You’ve… pulled? Hooked up?”

“No, I haven’t,” Malfoy says, sounding a bit guarded, “I’ve been thinking about it, I suppose.”

“Really?” Harry tries to sound interested and nonchalant, as he asks, “Who? Mandy?”

“What?” Malfoy snorts as if the very idea is absurd. “Mandy? Of course not. Why would I be pulling Mandy?”

Huh, that’s interesting. They’re clearly very close and Mandy is really cute, Harry has to admit. He rolls over, not wanting to break this fragile trust they seem to be building between them. “I mean, you do spend a lot of time together.”

“She’s my friend, Potter.” Harry can hear the eyeroll in the dark, and then his tone is oddly cautious as he adds, “She’s really not my type.”

Huh. Harry tries to picture Malfoy with a blonde and frowns, he just can’t see it, so he asks back, in the same careful tone, “You don’t like brunettes?”

With what seems like no hesitation at all, Malfoy says, “I like brunettes just fine, Potter. I just don’t like girls.”

It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room and then Harry says in a strangled voice, “Wait, what?”

His mind is racing as he struggles to parse the words Malfoy’s just said. Malfoy doesn’t like girls? But he said he likes brunettes, so he likes… Holy shit, Harry thinks to himself, Malfoy is gay. _Malfoy likes boys._

“You heard me,” Malfoy says. He waits a beat and then adds a bit coolly, “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Harry says faintly, almost too overwhelmed to speak, though he couldn’t have told you why. He just knows he doesn’t want to bollocks this up. “No problem. I just. I didn’t know.”

“Well,” Harry hears Malfoy roll over, the covers rustling as he adjusts his pillow. “Not many people do, actually. I’ve never really. You know. But I didn’t pick San Francisco for nothing.” His voice trails off and then he says abruptly, “Good night, Potter.”

Harry whispers, “Sleep well, Malfoy.”

He lies awake for hours, overtaken by images in his mind of just why, exactly, Malfoy might have chosen San Francisco, and understanding now that it wasn’t simply the distance that drew him here. As he closes his eyes, wishing for sleep, Harry wonders, not for the first time, if that might have been why, as soon as he’d seen the possible locations for this year abroad, he’d been heartset on this one. Maybe he and Malfoy have more in common than he’d realized. It’s a weird thought, and Harry tries to ignore it as slowly, slowly, sleep finally claims him.

It’s Saturday night, and Harry is stretched out on his bed, reading, when he hears a commotion out in the hall. Apparently Malfoy, Blaise and Pansy are going out to some club, and as Harry listens, Ron invites the rest of them along as well.

“We haven’t been out in… well, I dunno, ever,” Ron says, “Come on, ‘Mione, it’ll be fun.”

Harry slams his book shut and wanders out into the hall. He still can’t quite get over the fact that they’ve all become friends. Ron and Malfoy share a serious caffeine habit and tend to bond over the coffee maker on the mornings they have early classes. Harry’s learned to stay out of the kitchen until he knows they’ve gotten through their first pot.

“Weasley,” Malfoy says, and Harry can see that he’s narrowing his eyes at Ron, “It’s a gay bar.”

Ron shrugs. “I mean, it’s a club called Boystown in the Castro, mate. I’d sort of assumed that. Why, do you think it’s not okay if we go?”

Malfoy pauses, looking a bit nonplussed. “I have no idea.”

“I mean,” Ron persists, “We’re going with you, right? So it should be okay?”

Malfoy is staring at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just,” Ron shrugs again and waves his hands around, and Harry is struck with a wave of affection for him. “It’s a gay bar, you’re a gay guy, we’re friends, going out together.”

_Wait, what?_ Harry looks at Ron in surprise, he had no idea that Ron knew, and even less of an inkling that he’d have such a… nonchalant reaction to it. He wonders if he’d have such a calm response if Harry were to… He pushes the thought away.

Malfoy coughs and then says only, “Yeah, okay.”

“Anyway,” Ron says with a snicker and a curiously intent look, turning to Harry, “You’re the only one who’s single… and straight, mate, you might want to be careful. Don’t look too pretty.”

Harry feels a pulse of anxiety and scrambles to find the right thing to say, “I’m not actually worried, Ron.”

He tries to convey with his eyebrows how _not worried_ he is, but Ron doesn’t seem to pick up on the message.

“We’ll protect you, anyway,” Ron laughs, “We won’t let anyone compromise your virtue.”

“Ron,” Hermione chides and Harry sees Malfoy roll his eyes.

“Just don’t try to protect _my_ virtue, alright?” Malfoy is clearly pushing to make his tone light and Ron turns that cheerful grin back to him.

“No worries, mate. Though don’t think we won’t be giving anyone you pull the once-over. Gotta look out for our friends, right?” and with that, Ron heads into his own room to get changed.

Malfoy and Harry move into their room, and Harry wanders over to his wardrobe as Malfoy starts rummaging in his dresser.

“What do you think Ron’s going to wear?” Malfoy asks him with a snicker.

Harry laughs at the thought of Ron caring about what he’s wearing. “Same thing he always wears. It’s ripped jeans and a t-shirt or robes, he’s got nothing else. How about you?”

Harry grabs a stack of clothing and heads into the bathroom. He wiggles into the dark wash skinny jeans and pulls on the fitted white button-up shirt that’s one of the nicer things he owns. He brushes his teeth and tries to dampen his hair and gives it up for a lost cause, and steps out of the bathroom.

Malfoy has his back to Harry, and Harry can’t help the sound that escapes him at the sight; it’s sort of a cough and sort of a strangled moan at the sight of Malfoy’s lean and muscular body that’s been poured into tight black jeans and a fitted, sleeveless black shirt. Harry can’t help staring at the way his biceps move as he’s yanking a jacket from the closet. At the sound Harry makes, Malfoy turns and, merciful Merlin, he’s wearing eyeliner. And lipgloss. Harry thinks he may burst into flames right then and there.

“What? Do I look like an idiot?”

“No,” Harry squeaks out and quickly looks away. “No, you don’t.”

Harry watches Malfoy shrug on the jacket, which is black leather with interesting silver zips and snaps, and tries to catch his breath as he starts to integrate his new understanding. Malfoy looks so good. He looks tough and strong, and Harry would like to unwrap him like a present, and _oh no,_ Harry thinks as he follows Malfoy out into the living room where their roommates are all standing around. _Oh no, oh no, oh no. This wasn’t supposed to happen._

Everyone is dressed up for the club. Even Ron has pulled on a tighter t-shirt, eschewing the baggy vintage muggle band shirts he’s been wearing all fall. They all take a shot of some terrible cheap muggle whiskey that Blaise has taken a liking too, and then head out the door, laughing in the cool air of the San Francisco evening, and Harry realizes he’s never had this moment before, never had a chance to feel this carefree and young with a group of friends, and wonders if it’s really this easy to leave the past behind.

By the time they get to the club, Harry feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin, though he can’t tell if he’s anxious or excited. There’s not much of a line, it’s early yet, and soon they’re paying the cover and making their way into the lobby. They check their coats and then move into the hot, smoky interior of the club.

Harry looks around in amazement. He’s never seen anything like this. The music’s thumping, the lights are flashing and the crowd is almost all young men, dancing together, grinding on each other, kissing, and holding on tight, and Harry’s throat goes dry as his cock gives an interested twitch in his trousers. Harry glances over and Malfoy’s face is lit up like a kid in a candy shop, his eyes wide as he looks around him. Harry sees Ron grab Hermione’s hand as Blaise drapes an arm around Pany’s shoulder and leans in to their group.

“Shots,” Blaise shouts, jerking his head towards the bar at the back of the room, “then dancing!”

There is no reasonable counterargument to be found, so they push through the crowd to the bar, and soon Harry finds himself huddled in a circle with his roommates, pressed in next to Malfoy so close that he catches a whiff of Malfoy’s cologne. It’s nice, he thinks absently, as he takes first one, then another shot of something very blue and very vile. Malfoy smells of some sort of citrus with a woodsy undertone.

They all look around at each other and then Malfoy laughs, throws his hands up into the air and shouts, “Let’s dance.”

They all head out onto the dancefloor, and as they’re laughing and dancing, it begins to get more and more crowded, and Harry’s sense of unease begins to grow. Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves. He sees Blaise and Pansy spinning around, and Pansy leaning up to press a quick kiss to Blaise’s mouth. He sees Hermione tossing a sultry look over her shoulder as she backs up against Ron, whose mouth actually drops open in shock and then closes in a filthy grin that has Harry laughing. He sees Draco dancing, lost in the music as some guy wraps his arms around him from behind, and feels a flush of something that he chooses not to examine too closely rip through him. Shaking his head, Harry pushes through the crowd, thinking maybe it’ll be more open in the back, and he can get some water.

He watches Malfoy dance for a bit, and envies him. Malfoy looks loose and free, and for a moment, Harry lets himself dream about what it would be like to be the man wrapped around him, the man yanking Malfoy’s lean body against his own. He imagines pressing his hands against Malfoy’s taut belly, maybe kissing his neck, and even as his cock stirs in his jeans, he shakes his head.

It can’t happen. He doesn’t think he could ever be that person, so able to be himself, in public like that. He knows that’s not always how it’s been, he knows he used to be unafraid, to not care what people thought, but it’s been made clear to him, time and time again, just what the world expects of him, _needs_ from him, and he no longer knows how to go about letting them down. He wishes he could be free, and for just one moment, he wonders who has put the shackles on him. Is it the wizarding world? Or has he somehow done this to himself?

He’s leaning up against the bar when it happens. The music changes, the lights drop and begin flashing different colors, first purple, then blue. The crowd is writhing in front of him, clearly this song is a favorite here and there’s a sharp pulse in the energy of the room, and then the lights change again, flashing red and then to green, and suddenly Harry is gone.

He drops the glass he’s holding as his hands fly up to cover his face, and he can’t think at all. There’s only noise and fear and rage and panic and _get out get out GET OUT_ and he registers somewhere in the back of his mind that he’s screaming and he wonders vaguely if anyone can hear him. He closes his eyes and surrenders to it, pushing back up against the bar so hard that his back aches.

Suddenly, as he takes a shuddering inhale, he catches a whiff of a familiar scent, citrus and sandalwood, and there’s a feeling of warmth as a body presses in next to him.

“Potter.”

That’s all Malfoy says, just the one word, and Harry’s eyes fly open as he looks around wildly, disoriented.

“Potter,” Malfoy says again, and then, “Harry. _Harry,_ listen to me. You’re okay.”

Harry stares at him and says only, “Malfoy.”

His voice is rough, his throat is sore, but at least he’s not screaming for the moment.

“Harry, can I touch you?” Malfoy asks urgently and at Harry’s jerky nod, quickly wraps an arm around his shoulders which are trembling under his touch. “Let’s go.”

Harry nods again. Malfoy steers them through the crowd, and Harry leans into him. It’s inexplicable that somehow Malofy is what’s standing between him and the wall of panic that burns at the back of his mind, but it’s true. The weight of his arm on Harry’s shoulders grounds him and Harry takes one deep breath and then another.

He sees Malfoy send a quick patronus, and not two minutes later, as they’re walking up the street to the trolley stop, Hermione’s otter arrives, saying quietly. “Take him home, we’ll get your jackets.”

Malfoy doesn’t take his arm away and Harry leans into him, first as the trolley speeds them back to campus, and then as they make their way across campus and to their dorm. Harry’s heart is starting to slow down, his breath is evening out, but he clings to Malfoy as he shoves open the door to their suite. Malfoy steers him over to the couch, dropping down onto it and pulling Harry in close to him.

They’re both sweaty from the club, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to bothered by it, just holds Harry close until he finally takes a deep, shuddery breath and sits up a bit.

“Malfoy.” Harry pauses, embarrassed. “I don’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Malfoy interrupts him.

“But…” Harry doesn’t know how to find the words to tell him, how he’d been lost in the past, overwhelmed by the sound and the crowd and the lights and how Malfoy had pulled him out, brought him back.

“Enough.” Malfoy sighs. “Potter, do you think I don’t know a panic attack when I see one? You think I haven’t had them myself?”

“Oh.” Harry settles a bit, and looks at Malfoy. “Yeah, okay. I guess that makes sense.”

He leans back against the couch and watches Malfoy shrug, then lets his eyes close. It hits him, this was Malfoy’s first time going to a club like that, and he feels a flash of regret that he’d had to leave so early.

“It was fun,” Harry says abruptly. “The club. I… liked it. Did you?”

Malfoy pauses and finally says, “Yeah. Yeah, it was fun. Different from, you know. Back home.”

A smile actually skitters across Harry’s face and he takes another deep breath. “Are there even gay wizarding clubs? I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Yeah, there are few, in London. Manchester, I’ve heard. I’ve never been to one. It’s not that big a thing, I guess, but it’s not as out there as it is here.”

Harry snorts. “Malfoy, I don’t think there's any place in the world is as out there as San Francisco,” and Malfoy laughs in agreement.

“You may be right about that,” he agrees and there’s a beat of silence that feels sweet, like for just this moment they're in perfect accord.

Harry watches as Malfoy lets his head tilt back and rest against the back of the couch and stretches his legs out to rest them on the coffee table. He turns to face Malfoy, curling his legs up underneath him on the couch.

“Sorry,” he says quietly and Malfoy turns to look at him.

The only light on in the suite is the low light in the kitchen they leave on when they go out at night, and in the dim glow, Harry can’t read Malfoy’s expression at all.

“For what?” Malfoy asks, sounding honestly confused. “I mean, it’s not like you planned to have a panic attack, right? Of all people, I get it. Shit happens.”

“No, but…” Harry shifts and moves a bit closer. “It was your first time going to a club like that and I… got in the way.”

Harry watches Malfoy’s mouth curve into a small smile, and his eyes close for a beat as he says, “It’s okay.” He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll go again, it’s fine.”

All of a sudden, Harry can’t take it anymore. Something about dark of the room, the warmth of Malfoy’s body next to his, the way Harry had felt so safe with him, and his mouth. Merciful Merlin, his _mouth._ Harry looks at the way Malfoy is sitting quietly, that small, secret smile still dancing over his lips, and Harry aches, and he _wants,_ and he has to know.

So without thinking it through at all, Harry leans in, and kisses him.

Draco’s eyes fly open, and at first he’s frozen and still as Harry presses his lips to Draco’s, and then it shifts and changes, and his mouth opens on a gasp and for brief, glorious moment, it’s heat and pressure and Harry thinks blindly that he hadn’t known. He hadn’t know it could feel like this, like every nerve ending under his skin has come alive. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt, and even as Draco’s hand presses lightly against his chest to move him back, all Harry wants is to chase this feeling to the ends of the earth. He’s panting a bit as he stares at Draco.

“Draco,” Harry whispers and leans in again but Draco stops him.

“What? What are you doing?”

Harry wishes he had an actual answer for that beyond ‘I didn’t think it through and just wanted you so much,’ and struggles to come up with something to say.

“I just thought,” he runs a hand through his hair, “You didn’t get kissed at the club. I thought.”

Draco stares at Harry and Harry can see the anger flash across his face. “Potter, I don’t need a fucking sympathy snog.”

Harry stares back wide-eyed as Draco pushes him away. This is all going so wrong and he wants to cry for a moment.

“No, no, I just. You had to leave to bring me back here and I wanted to say, you know, thank you.” Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s said the absolutely wrong thing, ruined whatever moment they’d had.

“Fuck’s sake,” Draco leaps to his feet. “Potter, stop fucking talking. You don’t owe me anything, and in any case, you’re fucking straight, did you forget that?” He shakes his head. “Or did you just feel so sorry for me you thought what, that a pity kiss was better than none?”

Harry sits where Draco has shoved him. He’s trembling and wish for some of his legendary courage. Draco’s gotten it so wrong, and that’s entirely on Harry, because even though they’ve become friends of a sort, even though they’ve talked about so much, there are important things that Harry hasn’t told him, maybe because he’s never been able to find the words before now.

Draco shakes his head. “Harry, you’ve had a rough night. How much did you drink, anyway? C’mon, why don’t we just… go to bed.”

Harry gives up, the adrenaline of the evening fading, leaving him exhausted. He just nods and follows Draco into their bedroom. They get ready for bed in silence, and it’s not until they’re both tucked up under their covers that Harry speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “For kissing you. It’s not…” but his voice trails off and he doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t say, ‘It’s not what you think.’

“It’s okay,” Draco whispers back.

“It was the lights.” Harry says, remembering back to that moment in the club when it had all gone wrong.

“What?” Draco asks, clearly confused and not following Harry’s train of thought.

“In the club, it was the lights, when they flashed green, all of a sudden I just. I remembered.”

Harry stops there, fighting not to open the door to all those memories. He hears Draco shift in his bed, and realizes, he doesn’t have to say anything else because Draco knows all too well the kinds of memories a flash of green light might produce, and Harry wonders for a moment if he’ll ever be able to go to a club again without thinking about that.

“That’s all,” he says softly, “I just wanted you to know.”

“Okay,” Draco says. “Let’s just get some sleep, okay?”

In the morning, they don’t talk about it, but something has shifted between them.

In the days leading up to Halloween, Harry finds himself feeling more and more distant from the others, and from himself. He finds himself less and less interested in the coursework, though he continues going to class and forces himself to complete his assignments. He’s not sleeping well, and his nightmares, absent these last couple of months, have started creeping in again. He’s also finding himself hyper aware of Draco.

Ron had noticed, the first time Harry had called him that in front of them. They’d been on the couch, squabbling over ordering pizza versus Thai and Harry had thrown a pillow at him and told him to ‘stop being a stubborn bastard, Draco,’ and Draco had simply stuck his tongue out in response. Harry had seen, out of the corner of his eye, Ron’s head whip around as he’d looked at the two of them, but when Harry had turned his head to meet Ron’s eyes, Ron had very studiously been looking at their suite calendar on the kitchen wall.

Halloween appears to be a very important holiday, at least for the Dub-Dub student body, especially since it’s on a Saturday. Harry tells the others that maybe he’ll be done later, after he’s finished his paper, but instead, he ends up sitting in the dark, nursing a beer and listening to the sounds of the revelry from the beach. It sounds fun, but he feels almost as if there’s a glass wall between him and the rest of the world, and he can’t quite remember what it would feel like to want to be there with everyone else.

**NOVEMBER**

It’s Saturday night, and it’s just Harry and Draco still in the living room. The two couples have ostensibly “turned in early” to “get a good night’s sleep” and Harry had just grinned and turned up the radio so they can’t hear anything from their roommates. Why no one seems to remember to cast a muffliato baffles him but it feels weird to bring it up.

They’re both curled up on the couch, and Harry is staring off into space, listening to the sound of the rain outside as Draco reads next to him, ignoring him for some stupid muggle novel about the end of the world. Finally, Harry jams his feet under Draco’s thigh and wiggles his toes.

“Fuck off,” Draco says, not looking up from his book, “We’re out of ice cream anyway.”

Harry snorts. “That’s not what I wanted, but anyway, you’re wrong. I bought more this afternoon.”

That draws Draco out of his book and he marks the page with his finger as he looks at Harry and raises one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Harry says exasperatedly, “I got Oreo Mint,” and Draco smiles.

“So, if it’s not about ice cream, what do you want?”

“I’m bored. Entertain me.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I happen to know you’re behind on your criminal justice reading, so you don’t get to be bored.”

Harry flops back and makes a strangled noise of frustration. “I’m so fucking sick of legal stuff. Dark stuff. Criminal fucking justice.”

Harry watches Draco wander over to their postage-stamp sized fridge and pull out the ice cream. “S’too late to change this semester, but what about next? We’re meant to be registering soon, aren’t we?”

Draco wanders back and hands Harry his favorite Cool Britannia ice cream and a spoon. Harry groans in happiness and is surprised when Draco stumbles over his feet, landing next to Harry on the couch. He opens his Oreo Mint and digs in.

“Seriously, why are you taking all this stuff if you don’t want to be an auror anymore.”

Draco’s words are muffled around the spoon he’s got jammed into his mouth, but Harry understands him perfectly, and it reminds him of the conversation they’d had on the balcony out front. He remembers how unsettling it was to realize that no one had ever asked him what he wanted to do, and worse, how he’d had no idea what the answer to that question was, now that it had been asked.

Harry signs and takes a bite of ice cream. “I just feel like… I have to. Like I’ll be disappointing people if I don’t.”

Draco shrugs and digs out a particularly large chunk of cookie from his pint. “So? Like, I get that you feel pressure but, you can get used to disappointing people, Harry. You don’t owe anyone anything at this point.”

There’s a particularly loud thump from Ron and Hermione’s room and a giggle, and Harry shakes his head.

“I don’t know if it’s that easy.”

He can’t quite find the words to explain how it feels, that the weight of the world is resting on his back, and even if it’s not anymore, he still carries that burden, still worries every day about what might go wrong if he screws up. It’s hard to let go of who he was trained to be, he thinks ruefully, and looks up as Draco speaks forcefully.

“But that’s the thing, Harry. It really is. You can really choose whatever you want to do. Practically all you’ve done since we started classes is study. You’ve barely been out in the city at all. You should, I don’t know. Go exploring. Get drunk and fall in the ocean. Shag a stranger, blow off your revising. I know we’ve got months yet, but you’ve got to start living more.”

Harry stares at him and tries to quash the red-hot flare of jealousy that spikes at the idea of Draco shagging a stranger.

“Is that what you’ve done?”

“What? Draco asks, eating more ice cream, and Harry can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to the pink of Draco’s tongue and he remembers the way Draco’s mouth opened so easily under his own. He drags his thoughts back to the present, and then clarifies the question.

“Explore the city. Get drunk and fall in the ocean. Shag a stranger. Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“Well,” Draco hedges. “I mean, the ocean thing, yes? At the Halloween Bonfire.”

Harry snorts, remembering Draco waking him when he’d stumbled in at quarter to three, and the amount of sand they’d had to scourgify away the next day. “And the rest of it?”

Draco laughs. “I’m always with you lot, aren’t I? Haven’t done a whole lot of exploring, but we should do that. Get out of here, go off campus. Mandy was telling me that Sausalito's really cool, over the Golden Gate bridge.”

Harry knows he should stop talking, knows it’s really none of his business but he can’t help himself. “What about the shagging?”

Draco rolls his eyes at him over the ice cream. “Harry Potter, have you seen me with anyone? The only person I’ve even kissed here is you.”

There’s a moment that stretches between them and then Harry feels himself flushing.

“I’m going to bed,” he says, and leaves Draco on the couch with his ice cream.

Harry falls asleep quickly, thinking about Draco, hoping for pleasant dreams. His hopes aren’t answered, and he finds himself back in one familiar place after another. He is Nagini, slithering through the hallways of the old Riddle manor. He is in the Department of Mysteries, watching Sirius fall through the Veil, and then Dumbledore. Tonks and Lupin. Snape. Fred. His dead slip through his hands as they do every night, again and again, and he is helpless to stop their fall.

He’s not sure what time it is when a soft voice wakes him.

“Harry,” and then again, “Harry.

He wakes enough to realize that he’s not alone in the dark; there's someone next to him, sitting on the edge of his bed, and before he’s even really awake enough to make the decision to move, he’s winding himself around Draco, burying his face in Draco’s stomach as he fights back tears.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers and then rolls Harry over so he can wrap himself around him.

Harry presses back against him and reaches one hand around to cover Draco’s, where it’s holding on to his arm. He whimpers, and lets the feel of Draco’s strong body behind him calm his shudders, warm the chill that’s spread through him, and sooner than he’d ever have thought possible, he drifts back to sleep.

Harry wakes hours later, disoriented by the grey light of early dawn that is coming in through the window where he’d forgotten to draw the curtains last night. They’ve shifted position while they slept, so now Draco is on his side, facing out to the room, and Harry is pressed up against his back. Harry can hear the sound of Draco’s breathing, deep and even, as he sleeps, curled up into Harry.

Harry realizes with a jolt that he’s hard, maybe harder than he’s ever been, and he feels something like joy flash through him as he takes a moment to revel in how it feels. After the war, that final horrific battle, it had been weeks before he’d even woken up with morning wood, let alone felt any sort of desire. He and Ginny had tried, once. She’d come to him in the night, whispering ‘I just need to feel alive,’ but he hadn’t even gotten hard, no matter how much she’d tried. They’d both cried, and she’d held him as he’d whispered the words to set her free, and even though she hadn’t said a word, Harry had heard her sigh, relief and heartbreak in equal parts.

Since they’ve come to San Francisco, things have improved. He feels like gradually, without the threat of death and destruction over him, his body has woken up again. Food tastes good again, and he savors the tang of his new favorite lager, or the cool slide of ice cream on his tongue. He had his first massage, and has learned to love the sauna at the gym. He wakes up hard and jerks off in the shower, not every day, but most days. His body feels like his own again, and he’s even started flying in between classes, checking out one of the school-owned brooms, and he’s thinking about buying his own. He feels like he’s learning to live again.

So now, Harry stirs here in the dark, tucked up under the warmth of his quilt, pressed against the hard lines of Draco’s back and the surprisingly lush curve of his bum. He is so hard and it feels _so fucking good,_ that he can’t help himself, barely awake as he pushes even closer, chasing that spark that skitters just under the surface of his skin. His hand is pressing into Draco’s stomach and then Draco shifts and inhales audibly, and Harry freezes because Draco is awake too.

“Harry,” Draco whispers, his voice hoarse, “What are you…”

“Shhh,” Harry whispers and presses against him again. “Please, Draco, can I?”

He shifts his hand down so that it’s resting lightly on Draco’s cock as he waits for Draco to decide.

“Fuck,” Draco hisses, “Harry, what the fuck?”

But even as he’s speaking, he’s shifting his hips, chasing Harry’s hand, pushing for more, it seems.

“Please,” Harry whispers again, “Can I?”

He can’t find the words to tell Draco how beautiful he is, how much Harry wants him, all the time, how desperately he wants to feel Draco come alive under his touch. He’s noticed the care Draco takes of him, the way Draco makes sure they have his favorite orange juice and vanilla coffee, the way every time Harry looks at Draco, Draco is looking back. He thinks with hope, with longing, with more than he’s felt in years or ever, that maybe Draco wants him too. The feel of Draco’s cock under his hand is intoxicating and without thinking, he wraps his fingers around the length of him, feeling Draco begin to harden up as Harry’s hand moves.

“Shit, _shit,”_ Draco moans, and Harry has to know.

“Please, Draco. Is this okay?”

Draco gasps again and then whispers, “Yes, Harry. Yes.”

Harry doesn’t go slow, doesn’t spend time teasing or stroking Draco gently. He simply jams his hands down Draco’s pants and jerks him off like it’s a race, even as he grinds his cock against Draco’s ass, overwhelmed at how good, how _right_ this all feels. This, this is what he’s been aching for, Harry realizes. This connection, these sensations, how completely _alive_ he feels in this moment, where there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, and no one else he’d rather be with.

It’s over too quickly, Harry tightens his hand around Draco and swipes his thumb over the tip and Draco groans, coming hard, his release spattering over Harry’s hand and his own belly as Harry yanks him back against his own body, thrusts against him and comes with a grunt, pressing his face to the nape of Draco’s neck. They’re quiet and still in the early dawn light, the silence of the room broken by their gasping breaths.

Suddenly, Harry can’t breathe. What they’ve just done together in the dark, it’s overwhelming to him. Beautiful and terrifying, like he’s unleashed the floodwaters, but rather than dying down, they’re only intensifying.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers. “Harry, that…”

Harry rolls away. He hates himself, more than a little, but his throat is closing and he can’t talk about this, can’t even tell himself what it means, even though he knows. He casts a gentle cleaning charm towards Draco as he turns his back and faces the window, his body still thrumming with the aftereffects of the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had, and the distance between his body and Draco’s in this twin bed feels insurmountable.

He holds himself still, deliberately lets his breath lengthen and slow, relaxes the muscles in his back until he feels the bed move as Draco rolls over and carefully gets up. He stands by the bed for a moment and then Harry hears a sigh, and soft footsteps and the click of the door as Draco leaves the room, and only then does Harry close his eyes, letting hot tears spill down his cheeks.

They don’t talk about it, in the light of day, but it happens again, the following week, and twice the week after, and by the time Thanksgiving Break rolls around, it’s almost every night. After that first night, it’s always in Draco’s bed now, Harry climbing in with him in the middle of the night, wrapping himself around Draco and jerking him off even as he ruts against Draco and comes. Each time, Harry wonders, will they talk about it? Will it be something more than this physical interaction that leaves him sated yet somehow empty and aching for more.

He only has himself to blame, he knows. Harry knows he’s being a dick, knows that this isn’t what he wants, but he’s too scared to say anything other than “Draco, can I?” He always asks, and Draco always says yes, but that’s all either of them say. After they come, and Harry cleans Draco up with a gentle cleaning charm, he climbs back into his own bed, and never asks if he can stay, never asks what they could be in the light of day. So he really only has himself to blame.

It’s the Wednesday before the before the muggle Thanksgiving holiday, and Harry’s classes have been cancelled. He and Ron are sitting in the living room, enjoying a well-deserved beverage. None of them are going anywhere. Given how much studying they have before finals are upon them, the break comes at an opportune time. Harry knows Hermione’s out with some of the friends she’d made at yoga, and he has now idea where Blaise, Pansy and Draco are.

“I can’t believe it’s already almost the end of November,” Ron says.

“I know,” Harry sighs.

The year seems to be flying, and even though they still have several months before they have to leave, registration for next semester is approaching quickly, and, although Harry hasn’t mentioned it to anyone, he’s decided. He’s going to listen to Draco, and drop the criminal justice. He’s had more than one panic attack in class, and if he has to endure another semester of this, there’s no point in staying. The contrast between his nights with Draco and his days spent in classes that he couldn’t care less about is too great to ignore. Something has to change, so it might as well be his future.

“You know,” Ron says, “I think Kirsty from downstairs really likes you. She was asking me if you were dating anyone.”

“Oh?” Harry can’t bother to muster even a pretense of interest, and from the glance Ron gives him, he knows Ron is picking up on it.

“She’s cute, huh?” he persists.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “She’s not bad.”

“What do you think?” Ron asks, and Harry wonders at his persistence, and why Ron keeps glancing over at Harry’s closed bedroom door.

Harry shrugs. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m looking for anything serious, you know?”

“It doesn’t have to be serious though,” Ron insists, “Honestly, mate, you could do with a bit of fun. I don’t think I’ve seen you even look at girl this entire term. I know things ended with Gin, so unless you’ve got someone at home waiting that you haven’t told me about….”

Harry panics. This would be the perfect moment, wouldn’t it? All he has to do is say, ‘actually, Ron, it’s not girls I’m interested in actually’ but that’s a thing that can’t be unsaid, and he’s not sure enough to do it, so he takes the easy way out. He lies.

“Well,” Harry tries to make his voice light and careless, “Maybe after exams, I’ll go out, see if I can pull. Maybe go knock on Kirsty’s door,” and he and Ron both laugh, though Ron looks a bit confused.

Harry jumps when his bedroom door opens and Draco walks out. Harry can’t meet his eyes, and there’s a moment of awkward silence until Ron starts complaining loudly about the coding errors he’s getting.

Harry spends the rest of the break studying, and reading the course catalog as Hermione reminds him almost hourly about signing up for classes the following week, until he can’t stand it any longer. He also forces himself to keep to his own bed. At some point, he knows, he’s going to have to be honest about who he is, but he can’t help wondering how his friends will look at him when he tells them.

He announces late Saturday night that he’s dropping criminal justice.

There’s a collective cheer and Ron pulls Harry into a rough embrace when Harry says quietly, “I’m not going to become an auror. I can’t do it. I don’t want to.”

Ron’s voice is rough as he says, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, mate. Not anymore.”

“I mean,” Hermione speaks up, “This year is about exploring, right? So, you’ve explored that option and decided. What do you think you want to take?”

Harry takes a deep breath and looks over at Draco, willing him to hear the words he can’t quite voice aloud yet as he says unsteadily, “I don’t really know. So I’m just picking stuff that sounds interesting, you know?”

Draco speaks. “That’s what I’ve been doing, Harry. That’s what we’ve all be doing. You’re the only one who seemed hellbent on…” his voice trails off and Harry thinks he knows exactly what Draco might have said if he’d finished the sentence. Draco suddenly frowns and looks at Ron.“What about you, Ron? What are you taking?”

Ron grins. “Computer science, mate. I’ve been doing some independent projects with my C++ professor and he says I’ve got the knack.” He shrugs and Draco snickers.

“So,” Pansy says quietly, “What are you going to do, Harry?”

Harry looks down at the registration form and then looks around at all of them. “I’m going to write Kingsley and tell him I’m out, and then I’m going to take…” he swallows audibly and then says, “I’m going to take a photography class, and studio art. And psychology. And eastern philosophy.”

His knows his voice is tentative at first, but it gains speed and surety as he speaks, and he glances around, as if daring them to say something.

“Oh Merlin,” Blaise groans with an exaggerated drawl, “Say it ain’t so, Potter, you’re going to become a hipster, aren’t you, all plaid flannel and clove cigarettes,” and Harry hits him with a throw pillow and it’s so right, that Harry feels something like a steel band in chest loosen and give way, dissolving into the air as they laugh.

A week later, as they’re getting ready for bed, Harry asks Draco, “What are you doing for the Winter break?”

His heart is pounding as he asks the question. Things have been a bit awkward between them since the break. Harry has forced himself to stay out of Draco’s bed, even though every part of him aches to reach out for him. He’s not ashamed of who he is, or what he wants, but he’s scared to tell people, scared of not being what everyone expects. Though, he’s beginning to understand, maybe his friends already know more than he thought.

The day before, as they’d been waiting in line for coffee at the Student Union, Ron had said casually, not looking at Harry, “So, things okay with you and Draco?”

Harry had stared at him and then looked away, before clearing his throat and saying, “Of course,” and a moment later, “Why do you ask?”

Ron had only shrugged and placed his order for his triple caramel whatever-it-was that he loved. “Just wondering, mate. You haven’t been hanging out at much.” Then, to their mutual horror, he’d made determined, blushing, eye contact and patted Harry awkwardly on the shoulder and said, “You know you can tell me… anything, right, Harry?”

And Harry, flushing furiously, had only nodded frantically as the girl standing behind them in line had said loudly, “Not that this isn’t super touching and all, but can you order your fucking coffee, buddy?” and Harry had ordered a double mocha in alarm and hadn’t been able to get to sleep until 3:00 in the morning.

So, Harry has been thinking about how to do this. He’d received lovely and understanding letters from Kingelsey and Molly, both of which had convinced him that at least some of the pressure he’s felt is created by himself. He feels like a weight’s been lifted off him, and he’s in the mood to shift even more. But he has to know if he’s ruined every possibility with Draco.

He climbs into bed and casts a quiet nox as Draco says, “I’m staying here. I got permission to stay in the dorm. I can’t…” his voice breaks for a moment before he says more calmly, “I can’t go home. Mother’s going to France and I just, I can’t.”

Harry takes a deep breath and says, “I’m staying too. Ron and Hermione are going to Australia. Blaise and Pansy?”

“They’re going to London.”

Harry feels a bit of a thrill but only says quietly, “So, it’ll be just us?”

There’s a pause and then Draco says, “I guess so.”

Harry takes a deep breath, then slides out from under his covers and crosses the small gap between their beds. Taking every ounce of courage he posses, he sits down next to Draco and then reaches out, making a silent plea as he runs his hand over the curve of Draco’s hip. _Please, Draco,_ he whispers in his mind, wish Draco could hear him, _Please, I want you so much._

Draco doesn’t move though, doesn’t pull back the covers and invite him in, and Harry realizes even as Draco starts to speak that he’s missed his chance. Draco doesn’t want him.

“Harry,” Draco says softly, “Harry, I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

There’s a long pause and Harry wonders how a heart breaking apart can feel like actual, physical pain, but he says only, “Okay.”

He removes his hand from Draco’s body, and pauses for a long moment, wondering if Draco will say anything more, but he’s quiet, not moving, and finally, Harry stands and gets back into his own bed, and there are no more words between them.

**DECEMBER**

If hooking up had only made their friendship stronger, stopping it seems to do the opposite. Harry feels lighter these days, like he’s dropped a ten tonne load by letting go of becoming an auror, but he feels so disconnected from Draco now. Where they used to study together on the couch, or watch the television, or just hang out talking, Draco seems to have withdrawn. He’s not around as much, choosing to study at the library or at Mandy’s. They’re all frantic and stressed, and Harry can’t really pay much attention to the distance between them. He pushes away the hurt and focuses on his exams. They’re nothing like OWLS but still, he cares, he finds. He wants to do well, wants to prove to himself that he can master these new subjects. In any case, Draco’s made his choice.

He speaks with his victimology professor after the final. He’s the last one to exit the room and it seems fitting.

“I just wanted to tell you,” he clears his throat, “I’ve decided to drop the CJ program. I’m not going into the auror program anymore when I get home, so I decide to take some different things next semester. Thank you though, for all you've taught me this term.”

Dr. Jensen fixes him with a too-knowing eye. “I’m interested in that decision, Harry,” she says. “I did get an… enthusiastic letter from your future boss, letting me know how gifted you were. It seemed from that, your path was written in stone.”

Harry shugs and flushes. “I’ve had some time to think.”

She gives him an unexpectedly cheeky grin and then looks more closely. “Have you been sleeping well, Harry? I’m aware that some of this subject matter was… difficult for you.”

Harry looks away. “It was, at times,” he says honestly. “If Kingsley wrote you, then you know about the war, and my part in it.”

She only nods, not taking her eyes of his face, and Harry feels a burst of regret that he hadn’t reached out earlier, hadn’t tried to access the support she so clearly wants to offer.

“This is the first time since I was 11 that there hasn’t been a madman trying to kill me, and before that, well.” Harry gives a harsh laugh, “Let’s just say, it wasn’t easy. And you’re right, when I got here, I thought my future was written in stone, I thought I’d have to be exactly who and what they wanted me to be. But it was something you said in here, actually, that made me understand it differently.”

“And what was that?” Professor Jensen asks calmly.

“When you said that in far too many times and places, children pay the price for adults’ terrible choices. I realized,” Harry takes a deep breath, “I realized that I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of chasing the dark. I want to do what I want to do, and if that’s selfish, well.”

Professor Jensen nods. “I don’t think it’s selfish, Harry. Or rather, I don’t think it’s a toxic kind of selfishness. It sounds like you’ve paid a very high price for the war you won. What are you going to do instead?”

So, as they leave the classroom and walk down the hallway and out into the weak, California sunshine, Harry tells her. He tells her that he’s going to study people, and art. That he’s going to focus on figuring out what he likes and what he wants to do, “And,” he says boldly, “Who I want to date.”

Professor Jenson raises an eyebrow and grins. “Well, you shouldn’t have too much trouble with that here, Harry. I probably shouldn’t ask, but have you got your eye on someone?”

Heart pounding, Harry takes a deep breath. “I do, and I think maybe he likes me back. Or he did, if I didn’t ruin it.”

Professor Jenson just smiles as she turns to part way with him. “Well, Harry, there’s probably only one way to figure that out, right?”

Harry looks at her a bit blankly and she lets out a most unprofessorial snort. “Talk to the boy. Have a lovely break and enjoy your classes next semester.” As she moves away, she pauses and turns back. “And Harry, feel free to come by any time. It really was a pleasure to have you in class.”

Harry watches her make her way up the stairs to the building where he knows her office is, and shakes his head. Talk to the boy. _Maybe I will,_ he thinks with a grin, turning to head back to the suite, _Maybe I will._

Blaise and Pansy had left for London the day before, and Ron and Hermione are leaving that evening, and none of them will be back until the end of January. Harry is well pleased with his decision to stay in San Francisco for the break, even though he misses the Burrow and home, but he’s looking forward to six weeks of no classes, no homework, no stress. They’ve gotten permission to stay in the dorm, because they have a kitchenette, so even though the dining halls will be closed, they’ll be able to feed themselves. That’s the other thing. Since Draco has also decided to stay, it’ll be six weeks of Harry and Draco, alone in the dorm together. Draco has barely spoken to Harry since Thanksgiving, so it has the potential to be awkward.

Or, Harry thinks, hurrying up the steps to their level, it could be amazing.

There’s a flurry of activity as Ron and Hermione finish their packing and dash for the trolley to SFO. The door shuts behind and the silence in the suite is deafening. Harry shakes his head to dispel the ringing in his ears brought on by Hermione’s last-minute travel anxiety and looks over at Draco.

Draco says, “I’m going out tonight, are you in?”

Harry shrugs and nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The evening finds them back at Boystown. WIth the winter holidays underway, it’s not crowded at all, and they’re waved right in, checking their coats before they hit the dance floor.

This, Harry thinks a couple of hours later, is _exactly_ what he’s needed. A night out to lose himself in the dark and the heat and the beat of the music blasting through him. Maybe he’ll find his courage tonight, he ponders, as he takes first one shot then another, and follows Draco into the small crowd. Maybe tonight.

But within moments of them getting out to onto the dancefloor, Draco moves away from Harry and throws his hands in the air, and as Harry watches, a pair of muscular arms wrap around him from behind. Harry sees Draco take a glance back, and then turn and press back into the man, a satisfied smirk on his face. The guy settles his hands on Draco’s hips and they begin to move.

A sick feeling in his stomach, Harry moves back to the bar, but when the bartender quirks an eyebrow at him, he says only, “Water, please.” He leans back on the bar, just as he did the night of his panic attack, but the past couldn’t be further from his mind as he watches Draco and the interloper dance.

Okay, Harry has to admit, this guy is. Well, he’s built. And he’s gorgeous. Unfortunately the crowd is thin enough that Harry can see every move this guy is making as it unfolds in front of him in full, living color. As Hary grits his teeth, the guy slides his hands around to Draco’s abs. As Harry narrows his eyes, the guy starts pressing kisses into Draco’s neck. Harry moves forward as he sees the guy is now taking small nips interspersed with kisses, and Harry can’t bear it any longer.

Draco’s eyes are half-closed but fly open when Harry pushes up close to him and says, “Draco, I want to go.”

Harry can see the flash of irritation on Draco’s face and it gives him a bit of a thrill, to be honest, and he realizes he’s looking for a fight, a reaction, for _something_ to show him that Draco’s not moved on entirely, no matter how hard he seems to be trying to do so. Maybe that’s what Harry should want for him, but he doesn’t. He wants to be selfish, he wants Draco. He wants all of him, the sharp parts, the broken, the soft and sleepy in the morning, the keen mind and that gorgeous body. Harry wants it all and the knowledge thrills him.

“You can head back, Harry,” Draco says loudly over the noise of the music, “I’m good.”

“No, I don’t…” Harry runs a hand through his hair and then glares at Derek such that he takes a step back and raises his hands.

Harry watches as Draco swivels around to look at him and Derek gives him a regretful smile.

“Sorry, dude, this looks messy and I don’t do messy. Your boyfriend looks like he’s about to punch me in the face.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Draco says firmly and Derek just grins.

“Might want to tell him that, then.” Derek presses a sweet kiss to Draco’s cheek. “You get that sorted out, maybe we can have some fun sometime, okay? I’m usually here on the weekends.”

Harry watches Draco’s eyes follow Derek, who disappears into the crowd, and then he turns back in obvious frustration to Harry.

“What the fuck?” Draco’s voice is almost a snarl.

“I don’t feel good,” Harry says stubbornly, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes. “I want to go home. Take me home.” _Don’t pay attention to him,_ he’s crying out in his heart, _pay attention to me, please, only me._

“For fuck’s sake,” Draco huffs, but Harry can hear the acquiescence in his voice and as Draco turns away, he smiles to himself, just a bit.

As they head back to campus, they’re quiet, and the tension between them feels obvious, and Harry wonders for a moment why, when it doesn’t really matter, they can talk about anything and everything for hours on end, but here, where it matters so much, they can't seem to find any words at all. He hunches his shoulders as they make their way down to the dorm, visions of another man’s hands on Draco filling his head.

They get into the suite and Harry doesn’t bother turning a light on. Draco tosses his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Are you okay?” He breaks the silence to ask Harry, who just stares at him, a bit startled that now they're talking.

Draco rolls his eyes at him and starts towards their bedroom.

“Who was that guy?” Harry chokes out, and could kick himself, that’s the last thing he wants to be asking about, and he can see Draco bristle at his tone.

“Why does it matter?” Draco’s voice is cold, a bit bitter. “I’m not with him now, am I.”

“No.” Harry breathes and suddenly he’s crowding into Draco’s space, pushing him back across the room and up against the wall. “No, you’re not. You’re with me.”

He feels Draco stiffen beneath him as Harry’s body presses against him. “Fuck off, Potter. I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

“I thought maybe you were going to home with him,” Harry hears himself breathe into Draco’s ear, “That maybe you were going to let him fuck you, or you fuck him, I don't know. It made me crazy. I couldn’t stand it.”

Draco refuses to look at him. “Are you drunk, Potter? You’re forgetting something.”

“What?” Harry presses his nose into Draco’s shoulder and inhales his familiar scent. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Draco. Not one thing.”

“You’re straight,” Draco hisses. “Don’t you remember? You’re looking to pull a girl.”

Harry pulls back a bit and bites his lip. For some reason, the words are so hard to say, so he settles for, “Draco. I want you so much.”

Draco just about lights up the hallway with his rage as he stares at Harry. “Well, that’s just too fucking bad, Potter, because you don’t get to have me. I’m nobody’s dirty little secret.”

Harry flares up as well, and thinks dimly that this could go very, very badly. 

“You were never my dirty secret, Draco.”

It hits him, suddenly, how stupid he’s been, how fucking blind he’s been to how this might have felt to Draco. All the things he’d believed didn’t need to be spoken between them, he sees now, how wrong he’s been, and the thought that he’s left it too late just about cuts him in half.

“Oh no?” Draco sounds breathless, “Then why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you say you weren’t looking for a girl at all.”

“I’m not ashamed of you, Draco. I wasn’t _ashamed_ , I just. I didn’t know how to tell them. Everyone expects me to be someone,” Harry is shouting now, trying to make Draco _understand._ “Everyone expects me to be this fucking hero, and I am so fucking scared I’m going to let them all down.”

Draco’s face changes, anger giving way to hurt. “And being gay? That would let everyone down.” His voice is flat. “Is that how you feel?”

“No. I don’t know.” Harry grabs at his hair and yanks, trying to ground himself through the sharp burst of sensation.

Draco shakes his head and curls his lip as he says carelessly, “You’re a fucking coward, Potter.”

Shocked, Harry stares at him, furious and shaking. This is wrong, this is all wrong, this is not who Draco is anymore, but he’s overwhelmed by the hit Draco’s given him and all he can hiss out is, “Don’t you dare fucking say that, Draco Malfoy.”

“No,” Draco insists, “You are, you’re a coward, too scared to say no to anyone, too scared to tell anyone the fucking truth.”

“Shut up,” Harry shouts, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Fucking make me,” Draco hisses and suddenly Harry’s wand is at his throat and they both freeze.

Then Harry drops his wand with a hoarse cry and turns away, heart breaking as tears overflow. He’s not wrong, is the thing, Draco’s not wrong. Harry is a coward, and he’s been one all semester. A man with courage would have said what he wanted, taken the risk to tell Draco what he’s come to mean to him. Harry moves down the hall and into their room, where he shuts the door for a moment, just to get a fucking minute to breathe and calm down.

There’s a long moment where the only thing Harry can hear is the rasping of his breathing as he struggles to regain control, and then he hears Draco right outside the door.

“Um, I’m going to go. Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you’re a coward. You’re probably one of the bravest people I know. And you don’t owe anyone anything anymore. Certainly not me. I’ll… I’ll leave you alone. Give you some space.”

Harry lunges across the room and yanks the door open to see Draco walking away. When he hears the door, Draco stops and turns around. For a long moment, they just look at each other in the dim light of the apartment.

“Hey,” Harry says and takes a deep breath as Draco just looks at him. “What the hell just happened there?”

Draco goes into the living and drops down onto the couch, where Harry follows him. Draco doesn’t look over as Harry sits down next to him.

After a long pause, Draco says, “I don’t know.”

“You’re right,” Harry says after a pause and Draco looks at him. “You’re right, that I was scared. I guess I am a coward, when it comes to this.I wasn’t ashamed though, Draco. I never was.”

“Then why?” and the way his voice breaks hits Harry like a punch. “Then why didn’t we ever talk about it? Why didn’t you ever acknowledge what we were doing?”

“There are things you don’t know,” Harry says finally. “Things about the war. My role. What I was raised to be. Last summer, after that final battle, you have no idea what it was like. Everywhere I went, I got mobbed. People would cry, tell me their horror stories as if it was my job to make them better. People kept asking me what they should do now and I was like…” He shrugs. “Like, how the fuck should I know? I’m 18. I have no idea what _I_ should be doing, let alone anyone else. And then I heard about this program and I just thought, I can just go. Be myself. Not my name.”

Draco nods and his voice is gentle as he says. “I get that, I really do.”

“And I really did think I was straight,” Harry says a bit ruefully, “I mean, I’d never really been with anyone. I had a crush on Ginny, obviously, but after the war, I just. I didn’t want that anymore. Didn’t want her. I hurt her. That was another good reason to go.”

“I mean,” Draco says, “I hate to point out the obvious, Potter, but straight boys don’t generally climb into another boy’s bed night after night, and come from jacking them off. That’s not, like, really heterosexual behavior.”

Harry flushes, feeling almost guilty. “The first time, it was almost an accident, I guess. I woke up and I was so hard and all of a sudden I thought, Draco’s here, and it was all I wanted. You were all I wanted. And I felt better, you know? It felt right somehow, so I just. Kept doing it. I asked,” he says suddenly. “I mean, you did want it too, didn’t you? And anyway, when you stopped it, I realized it was just physical for you.”

Draco sighs. “Harry, it was never just physical for me. That’s why I stopped it, because it seemed like you were never going to want more than that, and it just hurt too much.”

“Wait,” Harry says, his heart rate suddenly kicking into high gear. “Are you saying you had feelings for me?”

Draco looks away. “Of course I did, you idiot. But it’s not enough for me, being someone’s secret lover, locked away in our room. I needed more. I need it to be real.”

Harry gathers all the courage it requires to reach and slide his hand onto Draco’s leg. “What about now?”

“What are you asking, exactly” Draco’s voice is steady but Harry can hear the strain it’s taking for him to keep it so.

He sighs and says finally, as honest as he knows how to be, “Draco, you’re right. You’ve been right about all of it. I don’t want to be an auror. I don’t even know if I want to go back to England. I don’t want to be someone I’m not anymore. I want to be who I am.”

“And who is that?” Draco asks softly and there’s a moment of silence that feels like the edge of dawn.

“Just… Harry,” Harry says finally. “Harry James Potter. Someone who’s not their leader anymore. Someone who doesn’t have it all figured out, who doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, but knows how he feels. Someone who doesn’t want to chase dark wizards but wants to help the world heal. Maybe make art. Or learn to cook. Or plant a garden. I don’t know. I just want to be someone who’s happy. Someone who loves.” He takes a deep breath. “Someone who’s not straight.”

They stare at each other for a long moment and then Harry’s hand comes up almost of its own volition and he skims his knuckle across Draco’s cheek, finding it hard to believe that half an hour ago, he had his wand at Draco’s throat, and now they’re here. Doing this. Whatever this is.

He continues, “I realized when I saw you with that guy that you were almost gone. I mean, not like you were mine or anything but it made me realize that I was being such an idiot. That you had no idea how I felt. Because I’d never said anything. Maybe you don’t feel the same way anymore, but Draco, I…”

Draco’s eyes look almost silver in the low light of the room, and Harry wants him so much, he aches with it.

“If your feelings have changed, I understand that.” Harry says quietly and a thrill runs through him as Draco shakes his head, smiling ruefully.

“You really are an idiot, Harry. Nothing’s changed.”

“Then, what do you want?”

“I want to be with you,” Draco says. “But I don’t want to hide in the shadows, I don’t want to fuck in the dark. I want to hold your hand in front of friends, explore the city with you.” He grins, “Get drunk and fall in the ocean, I don’t care. Just… whatever it is, I want it with you. Out loud. For real.”

Harry grins right back at him and then stands up and holds his hand out, knowing how much more he’s really offering. “Come to bed?” He flushes, “I don’t mean… We don’t have to… but.”

Draco contemplates him for a moment and Harry watches as the moment of decision comes and Draco reaches up and takes Harry’s hand, lets himself be pulled to standing.

“I want to, though,” Draco says in a low voice that sends a shudder through Harry’s body, “I want to, with you.”

“Fuck, Draco, are you sure?” Harry can’t quite believe this but all of a sudden he can’t wait.

Draco nods.

Words are no longer needed as they make their way to the bedroom. Harry shuts the door and remembering what Draco had said, casts a quick lumos. The room isn’t bright, but it’s lit enough so they can see each other clearly and Harry sees Draco close his eyes for a moment. Harry stands between their beds, still and quiet, waiting for Draco to decide.

Draco moves over, reaches one hand up to cup Harry’s face and pull him in for a kiss, skimming the other down over Harry’s arm to land on his hip.

“What do you want, Harry?” His voice is breathless, thrilled almost, and Harry feels so full of hope and happiness, he wonders that his body can even hold all these feelings.

Draco leans in and it hits Harry, that since that first time that Harry kissed him, they’ve never kissed again. This feels different, this moment. It feels big, and overwhelming, and so purposeful. Draco looks at Harry, and Harry looks back, a smile quirking over his lips and then they move together, meeting in the middle in a kiss that is immediately hot and searing.

Harry lets Draco set the pace, lets him shift and press forward, deepening the kiss as they move solely on instinct now. Draco’s tongue flicks across Harry’s lips and into his mouth, and Harry loses himself in the heat and taste of him as they rock together. Harry’s head is swimming and he’s gasping for air. He had no idea it could be like this, no idea at all.

He pulls back to whisper, “Bed. Draco please, on the bed.”

They separate, both breathing heavily, and then Harry grins, yanks of his t-shirt and drops down onto the bed, opening his arms up for Draco, who hastily yanks his own shirt off and follows him down. They kiss for moments or hours, Harry will never be sure, and then he rolls them over, kissing over Draco’s chest. He pauses as he comes across the scars, thin silver lines that crisscross over Draco’s chest, and looks up to meet Draco’s eyes as the reality of what he’d done hits him.

“No,” Draco says forcefully, yanking him into another searing kiss. He murmurs against Harry’s mouth, “No, we're not doing that. Be here now, Potter, right here, right now, with me. Okay?”

Harry shakes his head for a moment and then sighs, “Draco, I just. I’m so.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco whispers and kisses him again. “If you want to apologize, it’s going to have to wait. That’s not what I need from you right now.”

The comiation of demand and heat in his tone goes straight to Harry’s groin and yanks him back into this present moment, and he’s pretty sure he’s smirking as he says. “Oh, really? And what is that, then”

Draco grabs him and rolls his hips up against Harry, and Harry gasp as he feels how hard Draco is through the denims they’re both still wearing.

“What do you fucking think?” Draco says, and Harry can’t help the snicker that escapes him.

Harry kisses Draco again, and then begins moving down his body, focusing first on his nipples, then tracing the scars with his tongue in a move that has Draco writhing and cursing under him.

He slides a bit lower and glances up, and can’t help the almost mischievous tone as he says, “You want my hand? Or my mouth, hmm?”

Harry shudders as Draco presses a hand to his cock, seemingly almost undone by the very thought of it.

“Fuck,” Draco groans, “Your mouth, Potter, I want your fucking mouth.”

Harry’s mouth waters in anticipation as he sits up and makes quick work of Draco’s denims, helping Draco wiggle them down his hips so he can kick them off to the side and lie back, hard and leaking against his belly. He gets his first look at Draco, and reaches out to trace his thumb up the hard line of it. It’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, but this is all new to Harry, no matter how often he might have thought of it, late at night, or early morning in the shower, hand moving frantically over his cock, trying to stifle his groans as he came.

“Err,” he says, feeling a bit awkward all of a sudden, “I’ve never done this before, you’re going to have to talk me through it.”

Draco looks at him and then says, “Harry, I’ve never done it either. Either way. So, I’m as clueless as you, but I think anything you do is going to feel fantastic and I’ll tell you if it’s not, okay? And you’ll do the same?”

Harry nods and exhales. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmurs and then leans down to follow the path his thumb had taken with his tongue and the way Draco cries out makes him even harder.

Harry takes it slow, tasting and licking around the head of Draco’s cock like he’s getting used to the sensations on his tongue. He can’t take much in his mouth without coughing, so he wraps his hand around the base and sucks the tip into his mouth, and it only takes about two swipes of his tongue before Draco is shouting out an ecstatic warning, and Harry pulls off as Draco comes, arching off the pillows with a cry.

“Shit, shit,” Draco hisses, body still shuddering from aftershocks as he tries to catch his breath.

Harry can’t look away from him. He’s gorgeous, flushed and panting as he comes down, and Harry thinks everything he feels for Draco must be written all over his face.

Draco finally seems to come back to himself, and sits up.

“Off,” he says frantically, working at the button at Harry’s waist, “Get these off.”

Laughing, Harry obliges stripping down until he’s standing in front of Draco wearing nothing but a smile. He would feel self-conscious but for the look on Draco’s face, and realizes that everything he’s thinking about Draco, Draco’s thinking right back about him, and he can’t comprehend how he got this lucky, but he’s going to savor this.

“What?” Harry asks, as Draco continues to eye him, looking him up and down, and Harry resists the urge to cover his cock.

“Come here,” Draco says finally, “For Merlin’s sake, Harry, please.”

Harry slides onto to the bed next to Draco and runs his hand over Draco’s hip as Draco leans over to grab his wand. He quirks an eyebrow as Draco points his wand at his own hand and mutters the spell every Hogwarts boy learns by fourth year, and then his eyes open wide as Draco, instead of reaching for Harry’s cock, spreads the warm, fragrant oil between his own thighs. He stares at Draco and then closes his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed even by the idea of what Draco is inviting him to do, and then Draco lies back, presses his legs together, and Harry settles onto him as if he’s a key, slotting into place.

“Fucking Merlin, Draco,” Harry murmurs and begins to move, slowly at first, and then faster as he settles into a rhythm, fucking deep between Draco’s thighs, the head of his cock bumping up under Draco’s balls as he shifts his angle.

It’s tight and hot and slick, and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. He’s overwhelmed by the sensation, by how alive he feels, how whole and fully _here_ , right now, in this room with Draco, their bodies moving together, and his eyes fill at how real this is. Draco moans as Harry braces himself on his forearms as he thrusts, the his breath comes short and harsh. Draco arches up against him as all of a sudden, it’s like a slingshot pulled back and then released, and his whole body shudders as his mouth drops open and he cries out as he comes, overwhelmed.

Harry keeps his eyes closed for a long moment or two, while he lets the sensation surge through him like a wave, until finally, his body seems to settle, and he opens his eyes and looks at Draco, lying back on the pillows, flushed and messy, and something huge and powerful rises in his chest. He doesn’t have the words for it, not yet, but he will, he knows, and as he watches Draco watching him, Draco’s face opens and simply shines back at him, and Harry knows he knows it too.

“I’ll tell them when they get back. Sooner, if you want.” It’s not quite what he’d intended to say, but it is, he realizes, important that Draco know.

“What?” Draco stares at him as Harry carefully extracts himself with a wince, and then settles in beside Draco to rest his head on Draco’s chest.

“Our friends,” Harry says. “I’ll tell them we’re together, that I’m not straight. I’m not ashamed, Draco,” he says fiercely, “I’m not ashamed of who I am. It just took me some time to figure out. To find my courage again. That’s all.”

Draco threads his fingers through Harry’s hair and holds him close. “We’ll tell them together,” he says finally. “When they get back.”

Come what may, Harry thinks, listening to the sound of his heart, so strong and reliable, they’ll face it together, and finally, after so long, he feels like the clouds are parting and tomorrow, the sun will shine.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [come say hi on Tumblr!](http://phd-mama.tumblr.com/) If you enjoyed this, the rest of my writing can be [found here!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/works)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and it would mean the world to me if you left a kudos or a comment!
> 
> Even better, if you enjoyed this and wanted to share, [here's the rebloggable post](https://phd-mama.tumblr.com/post/174431454058/come-rain-or-come-shine-im-with-you-always) on Tumblr!


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